


there's a fire in your eyes (and i hope you'll let it burn)

by breakingbowties



Series: daylight [1]
Category: Glee
Genre: Ableist Language, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Blaine Anderson-centric, Blind Blaine Anderson, Blindness, Disability, Early Blaine Anderson/Kurt Hummel, Eye Diseases, Fluff, Homophobic Language, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV blind character, Slow Burn, internalized ableism, retinitis pigmentosa
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-16
Updated: 2021-03-03
Packaged: 2021-03-13 16:20:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 22,288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28781139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/breakingbowties/pseuds/breakingbowties
Summary: “Fear not, new kid. Ruta knows this school like the back of her hand. Or her paw, I guess. Ruta, left.”Kurt hummed. “You must, too. You’re the one telling her where to go.”“It’s a team effort.”“Ah. Is she a service–““Yes, she is.” Blaine tightened his jaw. “I have an eye disease – Retinitis Pigmentosa. I’m blind.”He expected the conversation to fade off into painfully awkward silence at that point. It usually did. Quiet pity was the most common reaction he received. The second most common reaction was a stuffy,you don’tlookblind. You don’t have grey eyes. Where are your sunglasses? Aren’t you supposed to have a helper?Instead–“Damn it. My first day and I’m already shoving blind kids down the stairs. That won’t look good on my permanent record, will it?”Blaine choked on a startled laugh.“Kurt?”“Hm?”“This feels like the start of averywitty friendship.”-----In which Blaine Anderson is blind, and it's not a terrible tragedy to overcome but a simple fact of being. And, also, he might be just a little bit in love with Kurt Hummel.
Relationships: Blaine Anderson & The Warblers, Blaine Anderson/Kurt Hummel
Series: daylight [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2121672
Comments: 102
Kudos: 127





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i got sick of seeing fic after fic where characters go blind or otherwise disabled in tragic accidents, so i decided to write one where the disabled person actually gets to be normalized and happy for once. 
> 
> this is just a first taste - i promise all of the chapters won't be this short!
> 
> if you'd like to learn more about the eye disease blaine has in this 'verse, as well as visual impairment and blindness in general, i'm going to leave some youtube links in the end notes to a couple of videos that you might find helpful.
> 
> enjoy!

Getting up and down Dalton’s spiral staircase between classes was always – _difficult_ , to say the least.

Blaine’s problem wasn’t the stairs themselves. He took the stairs at home without Ruta, who rarely wore her harness inside the house, and she guided him over these same stone steps during foot-traffic lulls with a practiced ease.

The problem was how damn _busy_ this staircase got.

People had to be used to the two of them by now, or least used to seeing them around. Blaine was, to his own knowledge, the only blind kid with a guide dog currently enrolled at Dalton. And yet, somehow, that didn’t stop the other boys from pushing past him on the steps to avoid being stuck behind a slow walker, or occasionally trampling Ruta’s paws with a careless misstep. Their embarrassed, muttered _sorry_ ’s never made up for their negligence, and certainly not for the painful tug on his shoulder as he fought to keep hold of the harness handle. But teenagers would be teenagers, he supposed.

This day was no different.

At least, he hadn’t expected it to be.

“Excuse me, um–“

Something landed on his shoulder. By the time Blaine registered it as a hand, he was already tipping over, being pulled by Ruta, who’d had no way of predicting an unexpected stop in the middle of the staircase. He inhaled sharp through his nose and commanded, “Ruta, halt,” a millisecond after she’d already stopped.

The hand on Blaine’s shoulder flew to grip his bicep tight, and another grabbed at the back of his blazer – a successful attempt to catch and right him.

“I’m sorry!” A high, countertenor voice cried out from a step or two above him. “Oh, my God, I’m _so_ sorry. I wasn’t trying – a-are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Blaine said, though his next breath was shakier than the last, and forced a polite smile. “It’s alright. Don’t worry about it.”

“Okay.” The boy quickly relinquished his grip. “Okay. I’m so sorry, I know you probably have somewhere to be, but – can I, uh, ask you a question?”

There was a certain, underlying timidness in his voice that was all too familiar to Blaine – hard to pick up on, but there all the same. Well-buried.

“Of course.” He extended a hand. “My name’s Blaine.”

“Kurt.” The boy – _Kurt_ – met his hand with one much softer for a few firm shakes. “So…what exactly is going on here?”

Blaine couldn’t help but smile, this time more honestly. “The Warblers! Every now and then they throw an impromptu performance in the senior commons. It tends to shut the school down for a while.”

If he conveniently forgot to mention that he would be the one leading this particular impromptu performance – _well_. Surprises were fun. Surprises not of the falling-down-stairs variety, at least.

“So, wait…the glee club here is kind of cool?”

“The Warblers are, like, rockstars.”

Secret self-aggrandizing was fun, too.

“Really,” Kurt said. Not a question, but a statement of disbelief.

Blaine knew the feeling well. He’d spent his first few weeks at Dalton walking around in a stupor, not quite allowing himself to believe there was such a thing as a bully-free school lest he jinx it.

“I know a shortcut,” he said in lieu of a reassurance. Nothing he could say would stick right now, anyway. Only time and experience could convince Kurt he was safe at Dalton. “I can show you, if you want.”

Kurt breathed a sigh of relief. “Okay.”

“Ruta, forward right.”

“Thank you,” Kurt said as they set off. “I doubt I would have been able to find it on my own. I really have no clue where I’m going.”

“Fear not, new kid. Ruta knows this school like the back of her hand. Or her paw, I guess. Ruta, left.”

Kurt hummed. “You must, too. You’re the one telling her where to go.”

“It’s a team effort.”

“Ah. Is she a service–“

“Yes, she is.” Blaine tightened his jaw. “I have an eye disease – Retinitis Pigmentosa. I’m blind.”

There was a brief pause.

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

He expected the conversation to fade off into painfully awkward silence at that point. It usually did. Quiet pity was the most common reaction he received. The second most common reaction was a stuffy, _you don’t_ look _blind. You don’t have grey eyes. Where are your sunglasses? Aren’t you supposed to have a helper?_ Luckily, Kurt at least didn’t come across as the arrogantly ignorant type.

But Kurt wasn’t silent and pitying, either. Instead–

“Damn it. My first day and I’m already shoving blind kids down the stairs. That won’t look good on my permanent record, will it?”

Blaine choked on a startled laugh. “Oh, I see. New kid’s got jokes, huh?”

“You don’t see, Blaine.”

Kurt seemed emboldened by the laugh his first quip had earned – which was exactly what Blaine always hoped for. Frankly, it gave him no choice but to like this boy. He shook his head, grinning wide.

“Kurt?”

“Hm?”

“This feels like the start of a _very_ witty friendship.”

* * *

“Ruta, find the door. Good girl!”

Beside him, Kurt hissed. “Oh, I stick out like a sore thumb.”

Over the din of commotion in the senior commons, a hand tapped his shoulder and Alex from third and fifth periods murmured, _I’ll take her._ Blaine handed him Ruta’s lead, then flashed Kurt a well-practiced smirk. Butterflies fluttered across his nerve endings. Normal pre-performance jitters, he told himself, though he knew that was only partially true. Despite the fact that he could probably do this number in his sleep, something about Kurt made Blaine nervous to perform in front of him.

“Well, bring a guide dog next time, new kid. You’ll fit right in. Now, if you’ll excuse me…”

Thad gripped his elbow lightly, just long enough to guide him into position.

This part came as easy as breathing. It always did. The Warblers were nothing if not thorough and efficient, which meant every step of choreography had been rehearsed right down to the half-inch. All he had to do was let go and _be_.

Easier said than done when he couldn’t see Kurt, didn’t know if he was even still there or if he’d grown bored and fled. Didn’t know whether or not Kurt was enjoying the performance. Didn’t know why he cared so damn much about the opinion of someone he’d known for all of ten minutes.

The last few bars of _Teenage Dream_ faded out, and the room imploded with noise and energy. Hands clapped him on the back in a congratulatory manner. Alex slipped Ruta’s lead back into his hand.

As the excitement began to die down, someone gripped his shoulder and leaned in to whisper: “You know that ‘new kid’ is a spy, right?”

* * *

“It’s very civilized of you to invite me for coffee before you beat me up for spying.”

“We are _not_ going to beat you up,” Wes said, and Blaine punctuated the statement with a firm nod.

Amusement was evident in David’s voice as he added, “You were such a terrible spy, we thought it was sort of…endearing.”

Blaine took a long sip of coffee to hide his own smile at that. He hadn’t even known Kurt was a spy, and he’d still found him endearing. What did that say about him? (Probably that he was both very blind and very gay, which – well – no news there.)

“Which made _me_ think,” Blaine said, setting down his cup and leaning into the table, “that spying on us wasn’t really the reason you came.”

Kurt sighed lightly, the only remnant of a nervous laugh that never quite made it past his vocal chords.

“Can I ask you guys a question?” Kurt said, hesitant. Blaine nodded. “Are…you guys all gay?”

For the second time in the mere hour they’d known each other, Kurt startled a laugh out of Blaine, but this time Wes and David were laughing, too.

“Uh, no,” Blaine said. “I mean, _I_ am, but these two have girlfriends.”

“This is not a gay school. We just have a zero tolerance harassment policy.”

“Everybody gets treated the same, no matter who or what they are. It’s pretty simple.”

Something about their explanation must have upset Kurt. When Wes’s voice trailed off, their guest’s breath grew wet and shaky, audible only by its waver.

Blaine opened his mouth, paused, then asked, “Would you guys excuse us?”

Wes and David pushed their chairs back. “Take it easy, Kurt.”

Blaine waited a few seconds for them to retreat, then broached the topic, carefully, like treading on eggshells. “Kurt…are you having trouble at school?”

“I’m the only person out of the closet at my school.” Kurt sniffled. “And I – I tried to stay strong about it, but…there’s this neanderthal who’s made it his mission to make my life a living hell. And nobody seems to notice.”

“I know how you feel.” Blaine swallowed hard, reaching down and resting his fingers lightly against Ruta’s harness handle to seek an entirely different type of guidance. To soothe. To ground. “I got bullied at my old school, too, after I came out. I tried to talk to my teachers about it, and I even brought it up with the principal. They brushed it off by saying my itinerant teachers hadn’t expressed any bullying concerns, but they weren’t there in the halls or the cafeteria, so how were they supposed to know? I could just tell that nobody really _cared_. It was like, ‘Hey, you’re blind _and_ gay? Your life’s just going to be miserable. Sorry. Nothing we can do about it.’”

“What did you do?”

“I left. I came here. My parents took some convincing, but I think they already knew public school wasn’t giving me the accommodations or education I needed, anyway.”

“So what…” Kurt whispered shakily. “What should _I_ do?”

“I’d love to tell you to just come enroll here, but tuition at Dalton’s sort of steep, and I know that’s not an option for everybody.” Blaine sighed, chewing the inside of his cheek. “Or…or you can refuse to be the victim. Prejudice is just ignorance, Kurt. And this – _neanderthal_ that’s been picking on you? You have a chance right now to teach him.”

“How?”

“Confront him. Call him out.”

“That’s…I don’t know if I can do that.”

Blaine had to admit that it wasn’t his most sound advice. He never would have confronted his own bullies – which he supposed made him a hypocrite.

But Kurt did have a pretty significant advantage in comparison to himself. An advantage Blaine would never have. Shouldn’t he make use of it?

“Kurt, look…” Blaine leaned forward, hands clasped on the table in front of him. “I ran. I didn’t stand up. I let bullies chase me away, because I didn’t feel like I had any other choice. And I really… _really_ regret that. But you have options that I didn’t, you know? That doesn’t have to be your story.”

Even as he spoke, Blaine tried to settle his racing heart, hoping he wasn’t telling this kid to do something that would make his situation infinitely worse.

Kurt breathed slowly, as if steeling himself. “I…yeah. I’ll try.”

They exchanged numbers, Blaine taking the time to indulge Kurt’s piqued curiosity and demonstrate how the iPhone’s voiceover mode worked. When Kurt moved his own fingers across the screen, only to pull away with a squeak as the narrator spat out a long string of letters, special characters, and _Facebook, YouTube, home screen, settings, home screen,_ Blaine tried not to laugh and failed.

“Just don’t send me any texts you wouldn’t want read out loud,” he said with a grin and a wink.

If Blaine didn’t know any better, he’d say Kurt’s reply sounded almost breathless.

“Okay.”

* * *

The next day, between third and fifth periods, Blaine slipped into a hallway alcove and pulled out his phone.

_COURAGE. --- Blaine._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you enjoyed the first chapter, please consider leaving a comment to let me know your thoughts!
> 
> and here are the videos i promised in the beginning notes:
> 
> [Molly Burke - 5 Myths About Being Blind](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CseaTVIJOhY)
> 
> [Molly Burke - A Scientist Explains My Eye Disease](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MOmRQb7h5lw)
> 
> (credit where credit is due - the title of this fic comes from the song 'Seventeen Ain't So Sweet' by Red Jumpsuit Apparatus)


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i didn't expect to get this update done so quickly, but here it is!
> 
> a quick note before you read this chapter: the command 'hop up' is a very commonly used guide dog command, but it has several meanings. it can be used to tell the dog to literally hop up (for example, into a car) but it's also frequently used to tell the dog to take another step forward, or to keep walking if they've slowed down or stopped. like, if the guide dog suddenly stops in the middle of the sidewalk, the owner can probe in front of them with their foot or hand to make sure the dog hasn't stopped for an obstacle, and if they find no obstacle they might tell the dog to 'hop up.' basically just a way of telling the dog 'keep going.'
> 
> i've included a couple more videos in the end notes that show guide dogs in action, if you'd like to see it for yourself, since ruta guiding blaine is featured pretty heavily in this chapter. 
> 
> WARNING: abelist and homophobic language in this chapter.
> 
> enjoy!

“He kissed me.”

Blaine shot upright in his bed, phone pressed tight against his ear. Those words in that small, shaky voice sent a jolt of worry down his spine. Ruta moved her head off his thigh and huffed at his sudden change in position.

“He _what?_ ”

“He kissed me,” Kurt repeated. His breath was loud and jagged, but he kept his words quiet – probably to avoid his family hearing, Blaine assumed. “Karofsky. The neanderthal. I confronted him, and I really thought maybe this would be the end of it, that he’d leave me alone, but – but then he kissed me.”

“Kurt…”

Kurt sniffled, the inhale hitching. “So the homophobic bully is actually a closeted gay kid. Classic, right?”

“I’m sorry,” Blaine said. “Kurt, I’m _so_ sorry. I never should have told you to confront him. It was a stupid idea. I’m s-“

“Stop saying you’re sorry,” Kurt said, taking on a firm edge that somehow remained kind. “Stop apologizing. I hate that he kissed me, but I’m glad I took your advice. I’m glad I did what I did. It felt good to believe in myself for once. To stand up for myself. You know?”

Blaine faltered at that, uncertain how to respond. He _didn’t_ know. He’d never managed to work up enough nerve to do what Kurt had so fearlessly done.

The reply he settled on was, “Then why are you crying?”

“I don’t know.” Kurt laughed without any trace of humor. “I really don’t. I’m overwhelmed, I guess.”

There was something else, something stilted and distant in Kurt’s tone, but Blaine didn’t press the matter. They’d been – friends? – for just a little over a day. Maybe whatever Kurt was so reluctant to tell him was the sort of thing you didn’t tell somebody you’d only known for a day.

“What can I do to help?” Blaine asked, mind already churning as he searched for the answer to that question himself. “Do you want to hang out, try and take your mind off of it? I’m sure my mom wouldn’t mind driving me to Lima, or you could come here–“

“No, it’s fine.” Kurt sniffled. “You’re already helping. It’s…it’s really nice to have someone I can talk to about these things. Someone who gets it.”

Blaine allowed Kurt a few moments of silence to compose himself, each of the countertenor’s deep breaths steadier than the last as they blew against the speaker, before he replied. “Dalton’s having a teacher work day on Friday. I have an eye appointment in the afternoon, but – I could come have lunch with you? If you want. You can say no.”

“Yes! I mean…” Kurt cleared his throat. “I mean, yeah. Sure. If you want to. That – that sounds nice.”

Blaine could tell Kurt felt embarrassed by his own enthusiasm, but for the life of him, he couldn’t comprehend why. Something inside his chest swelled and threatened to burst at the thought that _Kurt_ was excited to have lunch with _him_.

Of course, he had to go and ruin it.

“Maybe I could help you talk to that Karofsky kid, too,” he offered. “Clearly he doesn’t know how to even begin to come to terms with his sexuality. He might be more willing to listen if there’s two of us, you know?”

The pause that followed stretched on far longer than it should have. Blaine got the sinking feeling he’d said the wrong thing.

“Blaine…” Kurt started, hesitant, then sighed. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Why not?”

“It’s just that he can be – pretty violent, most of the time out of nowhere. I wouldn’t want to see you get hurt.”

Blaine tried his best to stomp out the embers of frustration as soon as they began to glow – why was everybody always trying to _protect_ him? – because he knew Kurt hadn’t meant that the way he automatically took it. He knew Kurt wasn’t being intentionally condescending. He _knew_ that.

It hurt nonetheless.

“I’m a big boy, Kurt,” he said with an edge of forced lightness. “And I used to go to a public school, too. I can take care of myself.”

“Right,” Kurt said too quickly. “Of course you can. But you shouldn’t have to, not with this. You went to Dalton so you _wouldn’t_ have to deal with people like him.”

“And you don’t have that option, so leaving you to deal with him alone would be cruel.”

“If we happen to run into him – and I mean _if_ – then you can be as chivalrous and O’ Brave Knight-ish as you want. But we’re not going to seek him out, and we’re certainly not going to provoke him. Okay?”

It wasn’t quite the confrontation he’d had in mind, but it was something. Blaine smiled.

“When’s your lunch period?”

* * *

If he’d thought Dalton’s spiral staircase got crowded, it was nothing in comparison to the halls of McKinley High.

“Ruta, forward,” Blaine said for what felt like the thousandth time, trying his best to keep the annoyance from creeping into his tone – it was hardly her fault. “Come on. Hop up.”

“Do you need me to sight guide you?” Kurt asked, hesitant, like he wasn’t quite sure if that was an appropriate thing to offer.

Blaine shook his head, somewhat surprised he even knew what sight guiding was. “It’s fine, but thank you. Are people trying to pet her or something?”

“No.” Kurt paused. “They’re staring at her, though.”

As if on cue, a voice squealed nearby: _aw!_ _Oh, my gosh, Hailey, look! There’s a dog!_

“They’re distracting her.” Blaine clenched his jaw as Ruta slowed to a stop. He gave the handle a firm shake. “ _Harness_. Ruta, harness. Hop up.”

Suddenly reminded that she was meant to be working, Ruta set off again, albeit much slower than he would have preferred.

“We need to turn left,” Kurt said.

“Ruta, left. Good girl. Come on, hop up.”

“Thank you for coming, by the way.” Kurt kept his voice light – probably a well-meaning attempt to distract Blaine from his own rising stress levels. “You’re a _very_ welcome disruption to the everyday banality of his place. Are you sure your mom doesn’t mind the drive?”

“Nah. My ophthalmologist is in Cincinnati, so she takes the day off work when I have an appointment. We don’t have to be there until three.”

What Blaine opted _not_ to tell Kurt was that they usually would have been in Cincinnati already at this point in the day. His mom always insisted they go a few hours early to do some shopping and grab lunch before the appointment. She was under the impression that it helped soothe his frayed nerves. Blaine never had the heart to tell her it didn’t.

“There’s a double door ahead,” Kurt said. “I’ll get it.”

“Oh. Thanks. Ruta, wait.”

There was a high-pitched creak. Sunlight shone against his eyes and a gust of cool November air blew over him. Another girl, presumably entering the building through the other door, voiced her excitement at the sight of a Golden Lab, complete with exaggerated kissy noises.

Before Blaine could start in with his polite, memorized spiel about the importance of not distracting service dogs, Kurt snapped, “Spy the harness, Claire. She’s working.”

The girl brushed past his shoulder with a huff. Blaine couldn’t help but grin, a warmth of fondness blooming in his chest for his new friend.

“Thanks. Ruta, forward.”

“No problem.” Kurt, sounding quite pleased with himself, allowed the door to creak shut. “There’s some stairs ahead. And then a landing – and then some more stairs. It’s not too busy.”

“Ruta, find the stairs.” Blaine allowed her to edge him forward until she’d placed her front paws on the first step. He pushed his foot forward to feel the step for himself, grateful for Kurt’s silent patience but nonetheless self-conscious about the slow process. “Good girl! Forward.”

They’d barely reached the landing when Kurt inhaled sharply beside him, then murmured, “Don’t talk. Just keep walking.”

“What? Why?”

“ _Nothing_. Keep walking.”

Confused and more than a little alarmed, Blaine opened his mouth to instruct Ruta up the next set of steps, but a teasing voice sounded from said steps and made the words die on his tongue.

“Hey, lady boys. What’s with the fleabag?”

As confident as he’d tried to feel and sound when he offered to help Kurt confront this kid, he couldn’t help the tendrils of cold dread that wrapped around his throat and squeezed. Kurt grasped his arm tight. Whether he was protecting Blaine or asking to be protected – or merely seeking comfort – Blaine couldn’t tell.

“You must be Dave.” He plastered on his best smile even as his heart stuttered and pounded. “She’s my guide dog. Allowed on school property, per ADA laws. Thank you for asking.”

“Wow.” Dave scoffed. “First that crip friend of yours in loser club, and now you’re fucking a blind fag? You got a thing for charity cases, Hummel?”

Blaine steeled himself, preparing for potential physical backlash. “Kurt told me what you did.”

Kurt’s grip on his arm tightened nearly enough to cut off circulation.

Dave scoffed, but his voice wavered ever so slightly. “Oh, yeah? What’s that?”

“You kissed me,” Kurt said.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” There was an edge of panic in Dave’s words. He pushed roughly between the two of them, separating Kurt’s hand from Blaine’s arm. “I’ve gotta get to class.”

Kurt’s hold on him now broken, Blaine turned to face the jock, ignoring Kurt’s hiss of, “ _Blaine_. Enough. Let it go.”

“It seems like you might be a little confused,” he said kindly, “and that’s totally normal. This can be a very hard thing to come to terms with, and you should just know that you’re not alone–“

He barely had time to register what was happening before Ruta’s handle and lead were wrenched from his hand. Two hands much stronger than his own dug into his shoulders, shoving his back against something that felt and sounded like a chain link fence. Blaine raised his hands in a gesture of surrender, head spinning and nausea crawling up his throat as Dave growled inches from his face, “Do _not_ mess with me!”

Ruta’s lead rattled nearby – the sound of Kurt picking it up, Blaine hoped – and then Dave’s hands and looming presence above him were gone.

“You have to _stop_ this!”

A few seconds of silence followed Kurt’s shout. After what felt like an eternity, footsteps pounded back down the steps. Kurt sighed, loud and shaky, and pressed Ruta’s lead back into his hand. Blaine accepted it with a grateful nod, found his grip on the handle, and leaned down to smooth his other hand over her head. Thankfully, she didn’t seem upset.

“Well, he’s not coming out anytime soon.”

Kurt didn’t laugh. Not that Blaine had really expected him to. But he also hadn’t expected Kurt to start sniffling like that. Like…like he was _crying_.

“Hey,” Blaine said softly, feeling a burst of concern. He held up his hand in Kurt’s direction, hoping he would take it to help ground himself. Kurt wrapped his fingers around Blaine’s forearm instead, more protective than self-soothing. Close enough. “Why are you so upset? We’re both fine. It’s okay.”

“I just feel bad,” Kurt said, tight, guarded. “I shouldn’t have let you come here. I knew something like that would happen.”

“There’s something else. Kurt, talk to me? Please. I can’t help if I don’t know.”

Kurt whispered, voice and hand both trembling, “Up until Wednesday, I had never been kissed. At least not one that counted.”

In a split-second urge to comfort, Blaine lifted Kurt’s hand and brushed his lips chastely across soft knuckles. Absolutely not in a romantic way, though. Totally platonic. Completely. “Does that one count?”

“I…yeah. Yes. It does.”

“Good.” Blaine released Kurt’s hand and straightened his back, trying to look like he hadn’t been beyond terrified in those few moments after Ruta was ripped away from him. “Now, I believe I still have to make good on my promise to buy you lunch.”

“You said you would have lunch with me. You never promised to pay.”

“Well, I am.” Blaine gestured vaguely toward the stairs. “Lead the way, O’ Brave Knight.”

“That’s my line,” Kurt mumbled, and Blaine laughed.

If his heart continued to race their entire way to the cafeteria, it was solely due to the confrontation with Karofsky. Kurt’s warm hand on his shoulder was not a contributing factor at all.

* * *

“Thank you,” Kurt said, holding an overcrowded tray containing both their lunches as they moved out of the line. “You don’t have to waste your money on some reheated frozen junk just to hang out with me. Let alone actually eat it.”

“It’s not a waste,” Blaine said. “Soggy tater tots and canned green beans happen to be favorites of mine. Ruta, find a chair.”

“You don’t want us to sit just anywhere,” Kurt said quickly. “Trust me. Can I…?”

“Sure. Just – get in front of her, she’ll follow you. Ruta, follow.”

Kurt managed to find them an empty, circular table near the back of the room. Blaine felt warm at the realization that Kurt must have done his research on blind navigation and audio cues; he snapped his fingers at Ruta as they walked to keep her focused on following him, then tapped his nails against the plastic chair next to his own until Blaine found his way to it.

When Blaine asked, Kurt’s hands paused where they’d been working to separate whose food was whose. “I…might have stayed up entirely too late after I called you on Wednesday, surfing Google. I hope I haven’t been too terribly misinformed.”

“No! No, you…you’re doing great. Seriously, thank you.” Blaine rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. “Nobody’s ever done that for me. I usually have to teach them myself.”

“Well, if you have a disabled friend, you should be educated about their disability, shouldn’t you? Speaking of which…would it be really rude if I asked you some questions? I mean, I’ve learned a lot about the spectrum of blindness and RP in general, but since it’s so wildly different for everyone, there are some things the internet just can’t tell me about you, and–“

“ _Kurt_.” Blaine laughed. “You’re rambling. Breathe. Yes, you can ask questions. I’m not easily offended, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“Okay,” Kurt said, taking a deep breath as prescribed. “Okay, so…what can you see?”

Blaine leaned back in his seat and hummed as he thought that through. He knew what he saw, but knowing it and explaining it in a way sighted people could understand were two very different things.

“I can’t see in the dark or in dim lighting at all,” he said slowly. “During the day, it’s like – these really narrow tunnels, like I’m looking through long tubes, except everything on the other end is so blurry that it’s not much use, anyway. It’s mostly just a mush of colors.”

“Okay. Uh. How old were you when–“

“Three.” Blaine searched for the tater tots Kurt had set in front of him and picked one up, mostly just to have something to do with his hands. “When they diagnosed me with RP, I was three. I was already legally blind then, but I still had a lot more sight than I do now. It’s a progressive disease, so…so what little sight I have now, I’ll eventually lose. Probably sooner rather than later, considering how – _aggressively_ – it’s already advanced. Most sixteen year olds haven’t even experienced enough symptoms to warrant a diagnosis yet, let alone gotten bad enough to need a guide dog or a cane. So, uh. So yeah.”

Kurt exhaled loudly, as if he’d been holding his breath. “ _Blaine_.”

“No. Look, don’t–“ Blaine set the tater tot back down, his hunger suddenly dissipating. “Don’t do that. Don’t feel bad for me, okay? Please. This is happening to me, it’s always been happening to me, and I’ve accepted it. If I’m not sad about it, then you shouldn’t be, either. Alright?”

“…alright. Are the soggy tater tots too soggy for your standards? Not soggy enough?”

Blaine smiled, all too happy to change the subject and join Kurt in bemoaning the quality of public school lunches, and tried not to think about the lie he’d just told.

_I’ve accepted it._

* * *

“So,” his mom said the instant he climbed into the car, a knowing lilt in her voice.

Blaine turned to her with furrowed eyebrows, the hand buckling his seatbelt pausing mid-air. “So…? So what?”

“ _So_ , how was your date?”

“Mom!” Blaine threw his hands over his face, feeling it burn beneath his fingers. She laughed as she started the car. “It wasn’t a date. I’ve known him for three days, alright? He came to tour Dalton earlier this week. He’s just a friend.”

“Is that why you wanted me to drive you an hour and a half to have lunch with him? And why he walked you outside and waited to make sure you got in the car before he went back in?”

“…I didn’t know he waited. He waited?”

“Mm. Awfully concerned for your safety. Walked awfully close, too. Looked like a date to me.”

“Oh, my God. Please just drive.”

“He’s cute.”

Blaine groaned and opted not to respond to that one, mostly because – well – whether or not Kurt was _cute_ held absolutely no sway for him.

But he sounded cute. He acted cute.

He was pretty cute.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a couple of videos featuring guide dogs in action:
> 
> [Joy Ross - How my guide dog shows me obstacles, what the Hop Up command means, and puppy cuteness!](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CGh3KyWiE-k)
> 
> [Molly Burke - How Guide Dogs Guide A Blind Person](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RJ9g4kmaXxg)
> 
> also: i have a tumblr now! you can [find me here](https://breakingbowties.tumblr.com/%22%22) \- feel free to send me a message or an anonymous ask!


	3. Chapter 3

How soon was too soon to text somebody after the first not-date friend-hangout?

Blaine wondered that as he sat in the ophthalmologist’s waiting room on Friday afternoon, legs bouncing and hands quivering with anxiety, desperate for a distraction. He wondered that on the car ride home, thoroughly exhausted with eyes still numb from the freezing drops, and as he lay in bed that night unable to sleep with Ruta curled atop his ankles.

On Saturday morning, he got his answer when he woke after very few hours of restless sleep, took his phone off the charger, and tapped the notification bar. Voiceover read aloud: _one new text, Kurt Hummel, 8:17 A.M._ Heart pounding, he unlocked the phone. _Messages; double tap to open. Messages. Kurt Hummel, 8:17 A.M. Kurt Hummel: Can I call you, question mark, colon, right parenthesis._ A quick tap to the top of the screen revealed the current time: _9:05 A.M._

Blaine’s first thought was that Karofsky must have tried something after lunch the day before, and his heart shot into his throat – but then why would Kurt have sent a smiley face? He sat up, brushed a few stray curls from his forehead, and kicked the covers off as he composed a message of his own: _Of course! Everything okay?_

Blaine waited none too patiently for another text to come through. Instead, not thirty seconds later, the phone began to ring. He swiped his thumb across the screen and all but slammed the device against his ear. “Kurt, hey. Are you alright?”

“What?” Kurt asked. His voice held no trace of sadness or anger – only confusion. “Of course I am. Are you? You sound a little…panicked.”

“I just thought that maybe…” Blaine shook his head. “I thought maybe Karofsky had done something else. You know, after I left. It’s fine. Sorry.”

Kurt said, amused, “As touching as your concern is, there _are_ other things besides my school bully that I’d probably enjoy talking to you about. I was actually going to ask how your appointment went yesterday. But only if you want to talk about it! You don’t have to tell me anything – I mean, we barely know each other–“

“Kurt. Rambling.”

“Oh. Do you not want to…?”

“No, you’re allowed to ask these things. Just what friends do, right?” Blaine sighed heavily. “It was fine, really. Nothing terrible. Everything is… _progressing_ pretty much as expected.”

What he didn’t say out loud was that _as expected_ didn’t mean good, that he’d fought back tears over _as expected_ on the drive home, that he couldn’t quite wrap his brain around the fact that one day even this mush of tunnel-vision color he’d learned to utilize would be gone, too.

“I’m sorry,” Kurt said. “I shouldn’t have asked. You probably have tons of weekend plans, anyway, so I’ll get out of your hair–“

“I don’t.”

“…what?”

“Have weekend plans. I don’t. Not today, anyway. I have plenty of time to just…chat, or whatever. If – if you do.”

“Um. So. My friend Mercedes and I are going to spend the day shopping – winter fashion haul, you know? Except for shoes and coats. Those are a Black Friday must.”

“Oh! Oh, right, of course. Well – thanks for checking on me. I’m fine, and I’m glad Karofsky didn’t start anything else. I’ll let you go do your…winter haul.”

“ _Blaine_ ,” Kurt said, exasperated, punctuated by a soft laugh. Blaine liked to imagine he was rolling his eyes. “That was my roundabout and apparently far too subtle way of asking if you’d like to join us.”

An initial wave of ice-cold shock was quickly melted away by warmth, spreading from his chest to his fingertips. “Are you sure? Would your friend be okay with that? I’d love to, but I wouldn’t want to impose.”

“It’s not imposing if you’re invited, silly. And you’re my friend, too.”

“You don’t mind the drive?”

“Do you really think we’d shop here in Lima, anyway? I’m almost insulted.” Kurt sniffed. “Westerville has all the good stores.”

“I…yes, then. Absolutely. Thank you.”

“No thanks needed. Just…what friends do, right?”

Blaine had to admit: for two teenagers who were not-dating and just friend-hangouting, they were uncharacteristically awkward, both constantly fumbling over their words in search of the right thing to say. A little like those unrealistic, made-for-TV tween movies about two high school friends unexpectedly falling in love. A _lot_ like them, actually.

He chose not to read too much into that.

* * *

The next week passed in a haze of gentle contentment.

He wouldn’t have thought something as simple as a shopping spree could make him feel so _normal_ , but it had. Kurt didn’t handle him with kid gloves ( _oh, my God, Blaine, pastel orange is_ not _your color – try on the burgundy_ ) and Mercedes treated him like she didn’t even know he was blind, despite the fact that it couldn’t take more than ten minutes in the presence of him and his sixty-pound, harnessed dog to guess as much.

They didn’t make him feel like a blind teenager. They made him feel like a teenager.

Communications between Kurt and himself seemed to evolve rapidly after that. The pair became less awkward, more sure of themselves, texting between classes without having to pause and wonder whether or not the other wanted to hear from them again. Kurt called him every night at eight sharp ( _routines are_ very _important to me, Mister Anderson_ ) and Blaine answered without fail ( _duly noted, Mister Hummel_ ).

Kurt treated him to dinner the following Wednesday night (not a date, Blaine firmly informed his mother). Blaine scrounged up two last-minute tickets to _RENT_ at the Community Playhouse on Friday ( _still_ not a date, he reinforced several times). His mom insisted on filling a vase just in case Kurt brought him flowers, even after Blaine said he wouldn’t. When Kurt did, it was because they were on sale, anyway, and it didn’t mean anything. He put Ruta in her harness and pushed Kurt out the door with a hasty goodbye thrown over his shoulder before she could gloat.

They were just friends.

Crazy how Kurt always had to tell Mercedes the same thing.

* * *

Blaine was having a bad day.

He should have been used to people treating him like he was fragile. They always had. It seemed like the older he got, the more pronounced the issue became – like he’d moved on past his ninth birthday, but everyone else’s perception of him was perpetually stuck there. If Braille was his second language, then all the swaths of pity that arose from others because of the RP might as well have been his third.

From the Warblers, of all people?

That hurt.

He knew they didn’t mean it that way. Nobody ever did. They probably hadn’t even caught onto his discomfort and rising well of anger during their afternoon rehearsal, mostly because he’d plastered on a smile and played the part in an attempt to keep it that way.

He didn’t want them to know he was angry. He didn’t want to _be_ angry. It was just hard not to feel condescended to when the gathering had started with the Council shooting down a small group of underclassmen’s performance pitch for Sectionals, citing that the choreography would be ‘too complex and dizzying’ for Blaine without even bothering to ask his input.

Were they underestimating him, or was he dragging them down? He couldn’t tell. He couldn’t tell, because he couldn’t see the choreography in question, because he couldn’t fucking _see._

Regardless, he paused his music and swiped to accept Kurt’s nightly call when it came through without a second thought. He wouldn’t skip this, no matter how frustrated he felt or how much he wanted to be alone and brood. “Kurt. Hey.”

“Hey yourself. What have you been up to on this fine evening?”

“Lying in bed. Ignoring my homework. Blasting The Regrettes’ _Seashore_ on repeat.”

“Uh-oh. That’s your angry song. What’s up?”

It spoke volumes to Blaine that he didn’t even have it in him to feel touched by the fact that Kurt knew his angry song. But that wasn’t a big deal, anyway. He knew Kurt’s angry song, too ( _Rose’s Turn_ , and Kurt sang it better).

“It’s nothing,” he said. A part of him was still secretly hoping Kurt would find a way to transfer to Dalton eventually. Giving him a negative impression of the Warblers wouldn’t help those already slim chances. “Just…feeling even more infantilized than usual today.”

Kurt made a small sound that was sympathetic without a drop of that cloying pity. Blaine had to bite his tongue to keep from asking how the hell he did that, and if he wouldn’t mind giving a few other select people some pointers. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“Not really.” Blaine paused, then sighed. “Yes, actually.”

“I’m all ears.”

“I’m just…” Blaine fumbled, searching for a way to compress this very large feeling into words. “Sometimes I feel like I can’t tell who’s actually my friend, and who just wants a disabled person to tote around and turn into a pet project.”

“You don’t feel like I’m doing that, do you?”

“No! No, of course not. You’re the only person I’m completely certain _isn’t_ doing that, actually. Everyone else…I don’t know. I can’t figure people out sometimes.”

“Hm. Glad to know you think I’m easy to read.”

Kurt’s tone was teasing, and despite his funk, Blaine smiled. “You, Sir Hummel, are an open book. I think that’s why we get along so well.”

“They do say opposites attract.”

“What do you mean?”

“Blaine. Come on. You think I don’t know you’re talking about the Warblers?” Kurt asked, and Blaine swallowed thickly. “If I’m easy to read, you’re hidden away under lock and key.”

“Then how could you tell?”

“You said it wasn’t me. How many other friends do you have?”

“Oh, thanks.”

“It’s not an insult. I’m the same way, you know. Just my glee club and you.” Kurt sighed, whimsical and dramatic. “Us theatrical types are too much for most people to handle, I’m afraid.”

Blaine supposed it was easier to call themselves theatrical and misunderstood than to admit they were blocked by the barricades of homophobia and, in his case, ableism. But Kurt was good at that, twisting bitter truths around into uplifting, self-positive affirmations. It kind of made Blaine sad. Nobody got that good at something without an absurd amount of practice.

“The Council turned down a pitch for Sectionals because the choreography was apparently ‘too complex’ for me,” Blaine said, partially because Kurt had already figured him out, but mostly because just the idea of lying to Kurt made him feel like shit. “They didn’t even ask. They just assumed. Like I wasn’t sitting right there.”

“Could you see the choreography?”

“No, but they could have at least _tried_ to teach it to me. They didn’t even bother. Like, my input on whether or not I can do a routine isn’t worth a five minute tutorial?”

“Did you tell them that?” Kurt pressed. “Did you ask the Council if somebody could teach you the choreography and let you decide for yourself? Did you speak up?”

“…no. I didn’t.” Blaine deflated, feeling more than a little ridiculous. “Oh. I should have, right?”

“Why didn’t you?”

“I…didn’t want to bother them, I guess. I didn’t want to waste everyone’s time if it turned out I couldn’t do it, after all.”

Kurt laughed, light and fond. “Blaine, my oblivious, people-pleasing friend. It’s your job to advocate for yourself in these situations, to make people understand they aren’t allowed to make decisions for you. I know you know that.”

“You’re always complaining about that Rachel Berry girl taking charge, though, trying to make things go her way all the time. I don’t want to be the Rachel Berry of the Warblers.”

“ _You,_ Anderson, are _no_ Rachel Berry – and I mean that in an extremely complimentary way. Nobody’s going to think of you as a self-inflated diva for speaking up on your own behalf. Now, on the other hand, if you start throwing full-fledged tantrums every time you don’t get the solo…”

Blaine laughed. It felt nice, like the relief of freedom from the heavyweight he’d tied around his own ankle hours before. “No tantrums. Cross my heart.”

“Mmhm. So what are we going to do next time?”

“Speak up?”

“I’m sorry, that sounded like a question.”

“Speak up. Advocate for myself.”

“Correct. And what are we _not_ going to worry about?”

“…turning into Rachel Berry?”

They both giggled, easy and warm, before the conversation moved along to lighter subjects.

By the time he hung up, Blaine could hardly remember why he’d been so angry in the first place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (i know seashore by the regrettes didn't even come out until 2017 but shhh let's pretend)
> 
> i'm on tumblr! [come scream at me!](url)
> 
> and, also, because it feels kind of obligatory at this point to throw an educational video into the end notes:
> 
> [Molly Burke - 10 MORE Questions NOT To Ask A Blind Person!](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gwx_4kRV7fY)


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you haven't noticed, i've officially decided how many chapters this story will contain - i'm also turning this fic into a series! this story will cover the rest of season 2, and there will be future stories covering the other seasons of the show in this same universe. 
> 
> WARNING: this chapter contains an _extremely_ brief, implied mention of suicide, as well as some internalized abelism.
> 
> enjoy!

_Kurt Hummel, 3:48 P.M. Kurt Hummel: I’m coming over._

Blaine’s chest constricted. He pushed away from his desk, the Perkins Brailler and Braille textbooks spread out in front of him immediately forgotten. His fingers shook as he typed, and he swore as voiceover read out mistake after mistake. _Capital A-R-D, backspace, E, space, Y-P, backspace, O-U, space, O-M, backspace, K-A-Y, question mark._

_Are you okay?_

Kurt’s response was instantaneous: _No._

Blaine swallowed hard.

_Okay. I’m here._

He didn’t return to his homework as he waited for Kurt to make the hour and a half drive to Westerville. Several short-lived attempts to sit back at the desk and focus, to spend his time wisely, were quickly drowned out by his racing mind and swirling emotions. Instead, he sat on the edge of the chair and endlessly refreshed Twitter, paced with music blasting through his headphones, laid in bed and thought.

When the doorbell chimed throughout the house, Blaine bolted upright, ignoring Ruta’s huff when he nearly tripped over her on the stairs, and flung the front door open.

Kurt fell against him in a hug, trembling minutely. Blaine closed his eyes tight and thanked whatever deity planned these things that his parents had chosen tonight, of all nights, to go out for dinner and a movie.

“What happened?” Blaine murmured once Kurt seemed a little more collected, though neither of them were quite ready to let go. “Please talk to me. I want to help.”

“You can’t help me with this. I just…I just wanted to see you.”

Something sharp, cold, and tinged with panic scraped across all of Blaine’s nerve endings. He stumbled back a bit, moving them out of the doorway, and reached out a foot to kick the door shut, all with a freshly tightened grip on his friend. “Kurt. Please, tell me what’s going on. You’re scaring me. Were you going to…?”

He trailed off, unable to make himself utter such terrible words. Not in relation to Kurt. Never.

Kurt flinched against him. “ _No_. No, Blaine. I didn’t mean to make it sound like that. I just – I don’t know what to do. Karofsky’s always been horrible, but I never thought he’d say something like…like _that,_ and I tried to tell myself he didn’t mean it, but he sounded so angry, and…”

“Kurt, hey. Let’s calm down. Just breathe.” He took a few deep breaths of his own, waiting for Kurt to follow suit before he asked, “What did he say?”

“He said he’d kill me.”

The dam broke then. The shoulder of Blaine’s sweatshirt became home to muffled sobs and a growing pool of tears. Kurt was caught in the throes of a tidal wave neither of them could even begin to control, and Blaine was just along for the ride.

He held on tight.

* * *

Two hours later, the pair sat side by side on the couch, Kurt’s head pillowed against his shoulder and their arms hooked loosely around one another’s. The living room was dark, and the TV screen emitted an almost too-bright glow as it played some rom-com or another that Blaine couldn’t remember the name of. The jokes weren’t funny. Neither of them laughed.

Judging by the deep, even breaths that blew against his ear and Kurt’s utter stillness, the crying spell had worn him out. Blaine realized with a sinking heart – if it could possibly sink any further – that he’d have to wake his friend soon if he planned to be back in Lima before his school night curfew. Not to mention Blaine had no clue when his parents were going to be home.

He didn’t want to wake him. He wanted Kurt to stay here with him forever, frozen in time, wrapped up in this cocoon of safety and warmth they’d created together. But he couldn’t. The real world awaited, and the real world had parents and clocks, rules and consequences.

And, apparently, closeted gay bullies who threatened to kill people.

“Kurt,” he said, nudging his shoulder upward to gently jostle his friend’s head. Kurt made a slight noise of discontentment and burrowed further into him. “Come on. You need to wake up.”

Kurt roused, but didn’t move away. He wrapped his arms around Blaine’s waist and whispered, “I don’t want to leave.”

That _hurt_. God, why did that hurt so bad? “I don’t want you to, either. But you have to. You know your dad will freak if you fall asleep here and miss curfew.”

“Can’t do that to him.” Kurt, marginally more aware, sat up and slowly untangled himself from Blaine. His voice was still rough from his nap and the crying. Mostly the crying. “Can’t freak him out. His heart.”

Blaine rubbed a soothing hand over his back. “I know. Stay for a few minutes, though. Let yourself wake up. I don’t need you falling asleep behind the wheel.”

“I’m not gonna tell him.”

Blaine paused. “Your dad?”

“He can’t know about this, Blaine. I can’t tell him – and neither can you, so don’t even think about it.”

“He…Kurt. He needs to know about this. Your teachers do, too. This is a big deal.”

“He _can’t_. And my teachers can’t, either, because they’ll have no choice but to tell him.” Kurt exhaled, long and shaky. “I’m not going to stress him into a second heart attack and possibly lose him for good this time just because I can’t handle some bully’s empty threats.”

The words _you don’t know they’re empty_ rose to the tip of Blaine’s tongue, but he bit them back. That had to be just about the least comforting thing he could say in this situation.

And there was no good reason to say it. Kurt had to know. He wasn’t naïve – not with things like this.

“I won’t tell him,” Blaine said. The promise left a bitter taste in his mouth. “But I really think you should. He loves you, Kurt, and he’d want to know.”

There was a long stretch of silence. Finally, Kurt’s weight shifted off the couch. “I’ll think about it. Thank you, Blaine. For letting me take over your entire evening with my problems, and – and just for being here. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“You’d be fine,” Blaine said with the utmost certainty, because Kurt had already made it seventeen years without him and was so much damn stronger than he gave himself credit for. “But I’m glad you have someone. And…I’m glad it’s me.”

Kurt said in a hushed tone, a bittersweet smile in his voice, “I am, too. Goodnight, Blaine.”

“’Night.”

* * *

Blaine lay awake for hours longer than he should have, music playing quietly from his phone as it sat charging – a playlist of all the songs he knew Kurt loved, which was updated frequently.

And it hit him, all at once: just-friends didn’t keep meticulous playlists of all the songs their just-friends loved, and certainly didn’t listen to them alone at night when they couldn’t sleep. Just-friends didn’t curl up comfortably on couches together, arms and torsos entwined, and fall asleep to the background noise of rom-coms.

Just-friends didn’t feel like _this._

Until now.

Because they _had_ to be just-friends. Because Kurt had a bright future ahead of him. Kurt had dreams and ambitions he was destined to reach, crowds of fans who didn’t know his name yet but would, one day. Kurt was kind and brave and everything good.

And Kurt deserved better than to be tethered to someone who would never be able to achieve that same level of independence. Someone who would always _need_ him for one mundane task or another – to drive him there, to sight-guide him here, to tell him what color this was or what that sign without a Braille caption said. Someone who would always, inevitably, hold him down.

Kurt deserved better than Blaine.

They were just friends.

* * *

Blaine was eager to forget the personal revelation he’d had that night, eager to bury these feelings he didn’t deserve to feel and remain a good friend – for Kurt’s sake.

Kurt, on the other hand, seemed eager to forget anything had happened at all.

The next day, he texted Blaine between classes as if everything was perfectly fine, full of pithy remarks on the wardrobe choices of his teachers and annoyance at Rachel Berry’s usual shenanigans. When he called Blaine at eight sharp, they talked about their individual glee clubs, the rules for high school show choir competitions and exactly how much they could bend without breaking, and less-sugar ice cream. Blaine laughed at Ruta’s antics when she grew jealous of the attention he was paying his phone and started lunging at him with every toy she owned, trying to entice him into a game of tug-of-war. Kurt giggled along with him when he explained what was happening, professing his undying love for Ruta despite his indifference toward dogs in general ( _but she’s_ your _dog – and she keeps you safe, which means I simply have no choice but to love her_ ).

Days into this very obvious attempt to forget, Blaine was toying with the idea of bringing up the subject of Karofsky again, asking how things were going and if he’d told his dad yet, when Kurt called him earlier than usual – four hours earlier than usual, in fact – practically bursting at the seams with excitement.

“My dad proposed!” He squealed into the speaker. Blaine pulled the phone a few inches away from his ringing ear. “He proposed to Carole! Oh, Blaine, they’re _so_ sweet together, and they’re so excited – and I’m going to have a stepmom and a stepbrother, and I even get to plan the wedding – God, this must be what it feels like to snort cocaine.”

For what must have been the thousandth time, Kurt startled Blaine into laughter.

Kurt had him laughing a lot after that. He invited himself into the Anderson home frequently to ask Blaine and Pam their opinions on important details (Kurt called his mom _Pam_ now, which made Blaine feel like they’d formed some sort of secret alliance behind his back). He asked Pam about colors and tablecloth edging and floral arrangements, and heeded her every crumb of advice like she was the reincarnation of Jesus Christ. He asked Blaine about napkin textures and song choices and the social repercussions of certain seating arrangements, and practically breathed fire a couple of times along the way ( _yes_ , Kurt, option number seven _is_ the superior napkin; thank you for seeing and correcting the error of my ways).

He couldn’t tell whether Kurt was trying to distract Blaine or distract himself by suddenly dropping the entire subject of what’s-his-name. Either way, it worked.

Momentarily.

* * *

_Messages; tap to open. Messages. Kurt Hummel, 11:53 A.M. Kurt Hummel: Impromptu dinner tonight, question mark. Have to tell you all about the wedding, red heart emoji._

Blaine, sitting at a Dalton cafeteria table full of Warblers – who all felt the need to _ooh_ and wolf whistle for some reason when voiceover read aloud Kurt’s text – replied immediately. _Of course! Time and place?_

_Pick you up at seven? Westerville Breadstix?_

_It’s a plan!_

That sounded so much clunkier than the _it’s a date_ he’d originally thought to send, but – well. It _wasn’t_ a date.

They were just friends.

* * *

“And then it turned out Finn roped all the New Directions into performing this number on my behalf, which just – God, I need to stop tearing up so much. I’m gonna get puffy eyes.”

Blaine laughed and tried to swallow down all the non-wedding questions that burned at the back of his throat. Kurt sounded _happy_. It wouldn’t be right to ruin that for him. “Sounds like everything went according to plan. Did anybody have anything negative to say about napkin option number seven?”

“No, I don’t think so. At least not to my face.” Kurt sniffed, fork clinking against his plate. “They all know better.”

“And nobody’s been – bothering you? At school?”

It was the first time they’d talked about it in weeks. Even without the mention of Karofsky’s name, Kurt must have taken the hint, because there was a substantial mood shift – the tension in the air was almost palpable.

But Blaine had to know, and he needed Kurt to talk about it. Somebody had threatened to _kill_ him. That wasn’t the sort of thing you could just brush off after a good cry.

“That situation has sort of…come to a head,” Kurt said slowly.

Blaine sat up straighter, offering his undivided attention. “How so?”

“My dad and Carole had a bunch of money saved up for their honeymoon, but – but they offered to spend it on tuition and board instead.” Kurt paused. “Tuition and board for Dalton. For me. I’m transferring.”

Blaine felt a thrill of excitement, followed quickly by guilt. He chewed the inside of his cheek to fight back a smile. He shouldn’t have felt happy that Kurt had been chased out of his own school, away from his glee club and friends, by a bully and a death threat.

But he was happy that Kurt was finally going to be safe. That Kurt was going to be closer to _him._

“I don’t know whether I should say sorry or congratulations,” Blaine admitted.

Kurt reached across the table to rest a hand on his wrist. “Both, I think. Do the Warblers take open auditions, or will I need a letter of recommendation?”

“Letter of recommendation, definitely.” Blaine heard the smile in Kurt’s voice, the teasing lilt, and allowed himself to grin, too. “I wonder who you could ask.”

“Hm. I was thinking Ruta. They know her pretty well, right? Do you think a pawprint will do?” Ruta huffed at the mention of her name. Kurt’s voice and hand shifted away as he leaned down toward her. “ _Yes,_ I’m talking about you. Can you hold a pen?”

Kurt was his best friend – he’d wormed his way into that title so quickly, it was honestly ridiculous. Kurt didn’t treat him like he was made of glass. Kurt _liked_ his guide dog, rather than merely tolerating her. Kurt was kind and funny and smart and strong. It overwhelmed him in all the best ways.

Kurt was going to be at Dalton with him, in the Warblers with him, never further away than the five-minute drive between school and the Anderson home.

His heart swelled, so full that he worried it might implode. Blaine breathed deep and kept his smile light, forcing his pulse to slow.

They were just friends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ah, my dumb gay blind son becomes self-aware. love that for him.
> 
> today's video:
> 
> [Molly Burke - How To Read & Write Braille + The History of Braille!](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=a8AEkwtNEiM)
> 
> if you enjoyed this chapter, please consider leaving a comment to let me know! i read and respond to all of them!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> in my outline i'd intended for this scene to be much shorter and combined with what will now be chapter six, but it kind of snowballed when i started writing it and became a chapter of its own. probably because it contains one of my absolute all-time favorite character interactions: burt and blaine.
> 
> enjoy!

Blaine sat at the top of Dalton’s front steps, one leg bouncing as he scrolled mindlessly through his phone. He paused every few minutes to check the time, somehow convinced it would speed up unexpectedly if he didn’t stay on top of it.

Kurt had told him the night before that he and his dad would be there at nine. Blaine insisted his mom drop him off at eight-fifteen. The Interstate wasn’t nearly as busy on Sunday mornings as it was on weekday evenings and Saturday afternoons, which were pretty much the only times Kurt drove to Westerville. He was trying to be a supportive friend. Showing up late to help him move into his dorm as promised wouldn’t exactly scream ‘supportive.’

Of course, Blaine only now realized he’d failed to take into account that Kurt’s dad had been driving longer than the two of them had been alive. Of course he would know to leave later than usual on a Sunday morning. Of course nine in the morning _actually_ meant nine in the morning.

The late arrival of this revelation, plus Blaine’s desperate need to earn the approval of both Kurt and his father, translated to him sitting on those steps for forty-five minutes in a static state of anxiety. Ruta rested with her head on his leg, shifting every now and then to nudge her nose against his side as if she could sense he needed the comfort.

It wasn’t like he minded waiting. Not being able to drive as a teenager meant he spent a lot of time waiting for busy loved ones to fit driving him around into their schedules. What he _did_ mind, and couldn’t help but be a little bit angry at himself for causing, was stewing in a metaphorical pool of his own anxiety _as_ he waited.

He couldn’t have pegged down any one specific thing as being responsible for the nausea-inducing butterflies that fluttered in his stomach. Kurt was going through a rough time, which meant that Blaine was, too, by extension. Kurt was upending his entire life, and would need Blaine’s friendship to lean on now more than ever. Kurt also had no idea that Blaine was only hanging onto ‘just friends’ by a fraying thread at this point, fighting his urge to dive headfirst into ‘unrequited love.’

There was a lot riding on this. There was a lot resting on _his_ shoulders.

Which was, now that he thought about it, probably the source of his anxiety.

That, and the fact that he’d never met Kurt’s dad before.

But it wasn’t a big deal, right? It wasn’t like they were dating. Surely Mr. Hummel wouldn’t scrutinize him any more than he did Kurt’s other friends. And if he ended up not liking Blaine – well, who cared? He was fairly certain his own mother wasn’t fond of a couple Warblers, though she’d never said as much aloud. It didn’t stop Blaine from being friends with them.

He and Kurt were just friends. _Best_ friends, and he was secretly trying to squash this crush before it overtook him – but still. Friends.

And Mr. Hummel would probably like him, anyway. Most adults did. He had nothing to worry about.

So why were his palms sweating?

As if on cue, footsteps shuffled through the leaves that littered the path up to the steps. Kurt cried out, eager, “Blaine!”

Blaine shot to his feet, certain he wouldn’t be able to suppress his grin even if he tried, and fumbled at his side for Ruta’s lead. “Kurt! Hey! You’re early!”

“So are you,” a new, deeper voice said, further away than Kurt’s. “Traffic was good to us.”

Before Mr. Hummel was even through talking, a pair of feet pounded up the stone steps, and Blaine fought to keep his balance, breath knocked out of his lungs, as Kurt collided against him in a hug.

“ _Oh,_ this is so exciting!” Kurt squealed, and Blaine winced at the sharpness of it in his ear, but his smile never faltered. “You have to show me everything – the Junior commons, the courtyard, the choir room–“

“Easy there, tiger.” Mr. Hummel’s voice was much closer now. The man chuckled, and Blaine felt the jolt of him clapping his son on the back before Kurt pulled away, hands still resting lightly on Blaine’s arms. “How about he starts with your dorm so I can get all those boxes of clothes out of my car? Don’t know why you need that many outfits, anyway, since you’ll be wearing a uniform…”

The warm, fuzzy feeling that Kurt’s joy at seeing him had evoked quickly faded, replaced by mild panic. “Sir, I, um – actually don’t really know how to get to the dorms? I live my parents just a few minutes from here, so I never really go that way, and–“

“Whoa, hey,” the older man said, effectively cutting him off. “First of all, you don’t have to call me ‘sir.’ That just makes me feel old. And it’s fine, kid. There’s gotta be maps or something that we can follow, right?”

“There’s a map on the wall in the lobby,” Kurt said, ever the quick thinker. Blaine deflated, releasing a held breath. “And I’m pretty sure I remember the way from my orientation, but I’ll take a picture of the map in case we get lost. Maybe Ruta could follow me?”

“Sounds like a plan.” Blaine felt the remaining tendrils of worry melt away. Kurt was good at that – making him feel so normal and commonplace, like all the extra help he needed was an expected installment of friendship. “Just get in front of her and – nevermind. You know the drill.”

Kurt giggled breathily, giving Blaine’s upper arms one last squeeze before he stepped away. “That I do.”

“Ruta, forward. Follow Kurt.”

After a brief pause in the lobby for the Hummels to look over the map, they continued on their way – but for all of Kurt’s finger snapping and Blaine’s firm commands, Ruta’s pace was abnormally slow. Blaine could feel her distraction in her sudden favoring toward the right side of the hallway.

“Ruta, hop up,” he said for what felt like the hundredth time, knowing damn well Kurt would have warned him if there was an obstacle in their way. “What’s up with her today? She’s not usually like this.”

He could hear his own worry echoed in Kurt’s voice. “I don’t know. I hope she’s not sick – oh! Dad. You can’t walk on her left. Guide dogs are trained for people to walk on their right. You’re confusing her.”

Kurt’s voice, which had echoed across the empty hallway before them previously, turned toward Blaine’s general direction as he realized the problem.

“Oh,” Mr. Hummel said on Blaine’s left – and then, moving rapidly to his right, “My bad.”

“It’s fine.” Blaine flashed an appeasing smile. “You’d think she’d be used to it by now, but those training years really do stick. Which is good news for me, I guess.”

Kurt, thankfully, managed to lead Ruta along to his new dorm without any further complications. Blaine had only ever heard what the dorms were like in the form of groans and complaints, the boys he knew who boarded on campus talking of tiny rooms that were too cramped, too cardboard-cutout, too this, not enough that. Kurt clearly didn’t share their opinions: the second he unlocked and opened the door, he made a noise of delight and clapped his hands together.

“It’s a school dorm, alright,” Mr. Hummel said with a wry chuckle. Blaine would go so far as to say there was a note of bitterness in his voice. He understood it. The man was, after all, paying for this – and paying a _lot_.

Kurt countered, leaving no room for argument: “It’s _perfect_ , Dad.”

And Blaine understood that, too. This tiny room, though it had to be much less cozy than his family home, was his ticket to freedom. His ticket to education and general life in an environment where others weren’t perpetually out for his blood.

How cramped or dimly lit or factory-perfect the dorm was couldn’t hold a candle to how _safe_ it was.

Mr. Hummel sighed heavily, but conceded. “Of course it is, bud. Now let’s go get all your damn Jacob Marks.”

“Marc Jacobs, Dad. We’ve been over this.”

“Uh-huh.”

Kurt, much to Blaine’s well-concealed chagrin, forbade him from carrying even so much as his decorative pillows. Their argument was short and nowhere near heated, Mr. Hummel listening in silence as Kurt won with, “You’re supposed to keep your right hand free, Blaine, you know that. What if you need to navigate around an obstacle? What if you trip? Safety first.”

Much to _Kurt’s_ annoyance, Blaine insisted on making all five trips out to the parking lot and back with them, anyway. He won with, “I promised I’d help. If you won’t let me keep my promise, the least I can do is keep you company.”

Listening as the Hummels did all the work didn’t sound like his idea of moral support – and yet, during the forty-five minutes it took to transfer Kurt’s stuff from the car to his new room, that was pretty much all Blaine did. It was all he did as the other two began opening and unpacking the boxes, too, because it was all he _could_ do.

After several minutes of Blaine standing in the corner, trying to stay out of their way with a tight-knuckled grip around Ruta’s lead, Kurt seemed to notice his discomfort and the reasons behind it. A soft hand rested on his, then lifted it to the crook of an elbow.

“I have an extremely important job for you,” Kurt said with the utmost seriousness as he guided Blaine toward a large box at the foot of the bed. “I need you to organize my clothes by season so I can hang them up. But they’re already perfectly folded and I swear, Anderson, if I see so much as a single crease or wrinkle, I’ll have your head on a stick.”

Blaine grinned. “As you wish, Sir Hummel.”

“I thought so. Get to work!”

Blaine decided not to tell Kurt how aware he was that his ‘work’ wasn’t much help at all. He knew for a fact that Kurt organized his closet by both season _and_ color, which meant that by sorting between thick, medium, and light weighted items, Blaine was really only doing half the job.

He was surprised to discover that he didn’t mind. From anybody else, it would have felt like condescending, infantilizing pity.

From Kurt, it felt like compassion.

About twenty minutes into the unpacking process, Kurt announced that he was going down the hallway to the bathroom. Blaine’s palms began to sweat again as the inevitable neared.

Sure enough, Mr. Hummel spoke up the instant the door shut. “My son must really trust you if he’s letting you handle his clothes.”

Blaine slowed to a stop in the midst of refolding a light wool sweater for the autumn stack. “Especially because I can’t see them.”

It was, in a way, a test. Mr. Hummel passed with flying colors. He corrected, “Especially because even I’m not allowed to touch his clothes, and I changed his diapers.”

Blaine laughed. It was, he had to admit, very uncharacteristic of Kurt to allow anyone near his collection.

Which only served to make his stomach flip, and then flip again and again and again.

“Yeah.” He rubbed at the back of his neck. “I mean – there are times when I have to basically trust him with my life. I’m just…returning the favor, I guess.”

“So you trust him, too. With…with your life.”

“Always.”

The answer fell from the tip of his tongue without hesitation. And it was true: Kurt had pushed Karofsky off of him. Kurt had guided him and Ruta through crowded, unfamiliar environments. Kurt had looped an arm through his at the crosswalk of an abnormally busy intersection and helped him cross when he didn’t feel like he could trust his ear’s judgment of the traffic flow like usual.

He trusted Kurt. With his life. With everything.

“Good.” Mr. Hummel cleared his throat. “That – you know, that you trust him. Pretty sure he trusts you just as much. You’re a good…friend…to him.”

Before Blaine could clarify that they were, in fact, just friends, the door opened again, and Kurt exclaimed, “Blaine Anderson! I don’t see any sorting!”

Blaine got back to the task at hand immediately, a fond smile curling his lips. Kurt trusted him, and he trusted Kurt.

Always.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you enjoyed this chapter, please consider leaving a comment!
> 
> [i'm on tumblr! come scream at me!](https://breakingbowties.tumblr.com/)
> 
> today's video:
> 
> [Joy Ross - Crossing a major intersection and ordering a coffee at Starbucks blind with guide dog Arabella!](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ye5NPdXM2Ag)


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i don't think kurt actually boarded at dalton in the show - i don't think dalton even actually _had_ dorms in the show - but apparently in the show westerville is also much closer to lima than it is in real life and i like the dorm concept so i'm taking creative liberty shhh
> 
> enjoy!

_10:42 A.M._

_Compose new message._

_How’s your first day so far? Everyone playing nice?_

_Send message. Message sent._

_Kurt Hummel, 10:45 A.M. Kurt Hummel: Magical. It’s absolutely magical._

* * *

“Now, I propose we do our entire set at Sectionals in eight-part harmony…”

Blaine knew by the soft sigh and the gentle clink of Pavarotti’s cage against the table that it was Kurt who settled beside him on the couch. He nudged their shoulders together and leaned in to whisper, “You okay?”

Kurt paused for a moment, then whispered back, “I’m fine. _Shh_.”

That was barely even an answer, let alone an honest one. Blaine knew him better than that. He wanted desperately to reassure Kurt that he, personally, thought Duran Duran’s _Rio_ was a capital choice for Sectionals, but he refrained. He could tell him later. The last thing he wanted to do was draw attention their way, especially when Kurt was already feeling so out of place.

And Kurt did feel out of place. Blaine could tell. His friend sat in utter silence for the next hour. He hadn’t known Kurt was even capable of being so quiet, of blending in so seamlessly. The difference was startling. It just wasn’t him.

Which was why Blaine declined Kurt’s offer to grab coffee when Wes banged his gavel to signal the end of rehearsal. Instead, he hung back for a moment, waiting for the noise level to indicate that a majority of the Warblers had cleared out before he called, “Wes? You still here?”

“Yes, Blaine. How can I help you?”

“Is Kurt too late to audition for that Sectionals solo?”

* * *

_3:45 P.M._

_Compose new message._

_Are you in your dorm? I need to ask you something._

_Send message. Message sent._

_Kurt Hummel, 3:48 P.M. Kurt Hummel: I am. Do you remember the way? I can meet you somewhere easier._

_Compose new message._

_I remember! Be there in ten._

_Send message. Message sent._

_Kurt Hummel, 3:52 P.M. Kurt Hummel: Okay. Be safe, red heart emoji._

Blaine did remember the way – mostly. He had to ask for directions a couple times, but Ruta was compliant, and his hands were barely even shaking anymore by the time he knocked on Kurt’s door.

The door swung open almost immediately, and Kurt breathed out, “Hey. What did you need?”

“To check on you.” Blaine swallowed hard, hand tight around the harness handle. “I know glee club must have been hard for you today – seeing your ideas shot down like that.”

“It’s just a different energy in there,” Kurt said quickly. “Not better or worse, just…something I’ll have to get used to.”

Blaine smiled, instilling as much confidence into the expression as he could. “We recognize that. And we have a tradition at this school of rewarding a student with a good attitude, _so_ – we would like to invite you to audition for a solo.”

Kurt’s breath caught. “For Sectionals?”

“For Sectionals.” Blaine grinned, his anxiety neutralized by Kurt’s excitement, and winked. “Sing something good.”

Kurt didn’t need to know that new members weren’t typically permitted to audition for solos, that he’d practically had to beg Wes to make an exception just this once, and that Blaine was fairly certain the older boy had only caved because he could tell his friend was head over heels for the subject of this exception. Knowing Kurt and his constant, dead-set insistence on proving himself – a trait they seemed to have in common – he would likely refuse to audition just on principal.

But when Blaine left the dorms that afternoon, feeling light, he also left Kurt _happy_.

Besides: by this time on Friday, it wouldn’t matter how Kurt had gotten the audition, because he would most definitely have the solo.

* * *

Or not.

In retrospect, Blaine should have expected this. Wes had only agreed to let Kurt audition because he’d begged – but just because they allowed the audition didn’t mean they would allow Kurt to win. They couldn’t. The rest of the Warblers had undoubtedly noticed the Council had broken a rule. For them to break a rule _and_ allow a brand new transfer to sing a solo at competition? Unheard of.

Blaine only wished he would have thought this through before he went and got Kurt’s hopes up…because now he had to crush them.

He steeled himself as he shoved one of the double doors open, heart pounding. “Guys?”

“We’re here,” Nick said, and Kurt echoed him.

“Nick, Jeff – congrats.” Blaine swallowed. “You two are moving on.”

He forced a smile at their excitement, stepping away from the door so they could pass through. They both left with brief claps on Blaine’s shoulder and murmured thanks.

Kurt asked, disappointment clear, “Any sage advice?”

And what was Blaine supposed to say? _Sorry, I forgot to tell you that the only reason you got the audition in the first place was because I literally begged the Council to break their ninety-day rule just this once, and I just now realized they were never going to give you the solo, anyway. Whoops. My bad._

What came out was, “Don’t try so hard next time.”

He winced.

_No, no, no! Abort mission! Abort!_

Kurt was silent, and the lack of acknowledgement pressed against him like cold steel. He hadn’t meant to say that. He had no idea _why_ he’d said that. It just sort of…slipped out. Kurt’s audition was incredible, and he had a feeling Kurt knew that just as well as he did.

“I didn’t realize caring was frowned upon,” Kurt said somewhat coldly, and Blaine’s chest cavity flooded with regret.

“I didn’t – I didn’t mean it like…like that,” Blaine stuttered out, feeling his face flush. “It’s just…did you notice we all wear uniforms around here? It’s about being part of the team.”

Even as he said it, Blaine hated how true it was. Kurt’s individuality was so refreshing, so new to the environment of Dalton, so _him_. But the sad reality was that the Warblers didn’t appreciate originality as much as they probably should have. It was all about the prep school vibe, all about unity. Which was something Blaine had never really taken issue with before. Not until now.

Not until he realized it was hurting Kurt.

To his surprise, Kurt’s mild indignation dissipated at once. He said with a sigh, “You’re right. I’m sorry. I guess I’m just used to having to scream to be noticed.”

“Don’t be sorry. I wish you could just…be you. It just doesn’t work like that here.” Blaine flexed his fingers around the harness handle – a nervous habit. “I know it’s gonna take some getting used to, but you’ll fit in soon enough. I promise.”

It made Blaine feel sick. Kurt shouldn’t have to assimilate to the Warblers, to adjust himself in order to be accepted. He shouldn’t have been driven away from McKinley in the first place, and he certainly shouldn’t have felt pressured to blend into the crowd at Dalton, of all places.

But Blaine shouldn’t have felt that pressure, either. And yet, he did.

That was the heart of Dalton’s culture. Assimilation. Unity. Which wasn’t a _bad_ thing, per say.

Was it?

“ _Well_.” Kurt broke the silence with a clap of his hands and a dramatized sigh. “I don’t know about you, but I could use a pick-me-up. Coffee?”

Blaine swallowed back his regret and forced a smile. “You paying?”

“It _is_ my turn, isn’t it? Fine. I’m paying.”

Kurt grabbed Blaine’s hand and slipped it casually into the crook of his own elbow, like they did this all the time – because they did.

“Then lead the way, good sir.”

* * *

Blaine got the solo.

It felt like cheating – because, really, it was cheating, just done on his behalf rather than done by him. According to the Council, they’d chosen him because they liked his sense of initiative.

According to Blaine, they’d chosen him because he was their token disabled person.

Kurt wasn’t any more thrilled by the news than he was.

“They just…gave it to you?” He asked on their nightly call, audibly disgruntled. “Just like that? You didn’t even audition.”

Blaine sighed. “I know. It’s ridiculous. I think it’s because…well. You know why.”

“Do you really think they’d do that?”

“Why else would they give a competition solo to a Sophomore who didn’t even audition for it, Kurt?”

“I mean – I don’t know. Maybe because you’ve already proven your talent so well? Your rendition of Teenage Dream was quite…you know… _dreamy_.”

“Not dreamy enough to warrant a Sectionals solo without a formal audition.”

Kurt sighed. It sounded…wistful? A little bit longing?

Huh. Weird.

“Just enjoy it, Blaine. I’ll get my moment to shine at Regionals – or, preferably, Nationals. I can grant you a Sectionals success.”

Blaine laughed. “You’ll let me take credit for the least difficult competition of the season? How chivalrous of you.”

“Oh, well, I’m a very generous person…”

* * *

He didn’t mean to let it happen.

It shouldn’t have been all that big of a deal, anyway. Blaine had gotten separated from loved ones or otherwise lost in unfamiliar environments many a time before. It was worse when those environments were particularly crowded or noisy, since he couldn’t listen for the voice of a friend or closing of a door to reorient himself, and people bumped into him or, more frequently, bumped into Ruta – but still, not a big deal. Irritating at best; downright dizzying at worst.

He was a big boy. He had a guide dog and a phone. He always found his way again just fine.

But he wasn’t fine this time.

He was fucking _scared_.

One minute, Blaine was struggling to hear voiceover read out his mom’s text asking if he’d gotten to Sectionals safely over the flood of voices around him. The next, he was asking if they could go ahead back to their greenroom where it would be quieter, and then asking twice more before the realization sunk in: the other Warblers weren’t all simultaneously distracted or ignoring him.

They weren’t _there_.

“Okay.” Blaine exhaled and swallowed hard. He knew what to do. Everything was fine. “Alright. Ruta, find the door. Can you find a door for me?”

Ruta would find the door they’d entered the event hall through just a few minutes before. He would step outside and call Kurt, who would undoubtedly be wondering where he’d gone soon enough if he wasn’t already, to help him find the rest of the Warblers. A simple plan, but a solid one.

Except Ruta seemed to be a bit disoriented herself.

“Hop up,” Blaine said after a very frustrating thirty seconds of trying to get her to take more than five hesitant steps forward. Nearby, somebody cooed about _that precious dog_. She turned toward them. Blaine shook the handle. “Harness. Ruta, forward.”

She moved, but slowly. He reached a now-shaking hand into his pocket to fish his phone back out. Part one of his escape plan wasn’t panning out well, but he still had part two. He could still call Kurt.

Except he couldn’t do that, either – because somebody brushed past his shoulder, and his phone clattered to the floor. He swore and dove to search for it, but his hand met only dirty linoleum.

“Excuse me? Sir?” He straightened up as a man laughed only a foot or two away from him. There was no response. A woman called somebody’s name. “Ma’am? Could you – I just need…”

Panic crawled up his throat, fuzzed around the edges of his brain, and rung in his ears. Nobody was listening to him. Why weren’t they listening? Couldn’t anyone in this lobby full of sighted people see he needed help? Wasn’t it obvious?

And where the hell had his entire glee club disappeared to? Hadn’t somebody noticed he wasn’t there?

What if they hadn’t? What if they didn’t until it was time to perform and they weren’t on stage when the curtains rose and–

Shit.

_Shit, shit, shit._

“Blaine?”

He could have melted into a puddle of relief right then and there. He came fairly close. His knees buckled.

“ _Kurt_.”

“Hey. I was wondering where you went – oh! I think you dropped your phone.”

Kurt tried to press the phone back into his hand. Blaine grabbed Kurt’s wrist instead and all but yanked him into a bone-crushing hug.

“Sorry,” he said over Kurt’s squeak of surprise. “I’m sorry, I just – God. Shit. Sorry.”

Kurt returned the hug slowly, hands and voice both hesitant. “Something…something’s wrong. Blaine, what happened? Are you okay?”

“I just freaked myself out, I guess. It’s fine. Everything’s fine.”

“You wouldn’t be crushing my ribcage right now if everything was fine.”

Blaine pulled away, right hand still resting on Kurt’s arm and the left holding the harness handle in a death grip. “I didn’t know where everyone went. I tried to ask a question and you were all just…gone. And it’s really busy and loud in here, and Ruta got distracted, but it was fine because I was gonna call you for help, but then I dropped my phone and–“

“Oh, _Blaine_.” Kurt cut him off mid-ramble by pulling him in for another hug – a softer, non-ribcage-crushing one this time. Blaine exhaled shakily against his shoulder. “ _Shh_. It’s okay now. It’s okay.”

“It’s okay,” Blaine echoed, embarrassed by the tearful edge to his voice. “I know. I’m fine.”

“I’m so sorry, Blaine. I should have realized you wouldn’t just walk away in a new place without telling anyone where you’re going. Didn’t you hear David saying we should go find our greenroom?”

“My mom texted me. I was trying to listen to it.” Trying to listen to it with the speaker pressed to his ear, blocking out all other noise – stupid, in retrospect. “I’m the one who should be sorry. I should have been paying attention.”

“No, hey – don’t do that. _We_ should have been paying attention. This wasn’t your fault. Okay?”

“But–“

“Blaine. This was not your fault, and if you insinuate one more time that it was, I will revoke your privilege to use my travel-sized hand lotions. Understood?”

Blaine couldn’t help but laugh. “I wouldn’t want to lose my midday moisturizing privileges.”

“Good, because those are very expensive creams and a very rarely afforded privilege. And by ‘rare,’ I mean you’re the only one.”

Kurt gave him one final squeeze before releasing him for good this time. Blaine’s heart soared at those words – _you’re the only one_ – and he hoped it didn’t show on his face.

“Well.” Blaine took in a hitching breath. “Now that my, uh, mini crisis has been averted, would you mind accompanying me to the greenroom?”

“No.”

“I…what?”

“You need a minute. I can tell.” Kurt handed his phone over and Blaine pocketed it numbly. “We’re going to go outside and get some fresh air. You’re going to text Pam back. And _then_ we’ll go to the greenroom, when you’re ready. Okay?”

Blaine said breathily, “Okay.”

How did he get so lucky?

(Not lucky. Not really – not like that. They were just friends.)

If his heart did little somersaults all the way to the front doors entirely because Kurt’s hand encased his, that didn’t mean anything at all.

* * *

“A tie is a win, as far as I’m concerned,” Blaine said with a grin as they settled back into their charter bus for the ride home. A few other Warblers whooped in agreement, but beside him, Kurt was silent. “What? You don’t agree?”

“I do,” Kurt said evenly, then lowered his voice and leaned in. “Just – in the lobby earlier – are you…?”

“I’m fine, Kurt.” Blaine shook his head. “Seriously. I promise. That’s happened before and it’ll happen again. I overreacted, anyway.”

His answer was appeasing enough, and Kurt, luckily, seemed to have a handle on when it was time to leave well enough alone, because he never brought up the incident again.

But Blaine did.

He dreamt of it that night – dreamt of a timeline where Kurt wasn’t there to help and nobody found him in time for their stage call. Dreamt of the entire population of Dalton despising him for their default loss. And halfway through the dream, Dalton merged with Westerville North High, became a place where kids could punch other kids without getting so much as suspended, blind kids were taunted for their lack of sight, and homophobes waited outside the Sadie Hawkins dance for their chance to bash his face in.

He woke in a cold sweat and reached to grab his phone from the nightstand table. Half-conscious instinct told Blaine to call _him_ , because Kurt made everything better.

A slightly more reasonable side of his brain, when it kicked in, told him to roll over and go back to sleep. It was late, and he’d be with Kurt at school in just a few hours. It well-exceeded the boundaries of a two-month-old friendship to make a midnight call just because you’d had a bad dream.

And Kurt was, after all, just his friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i am JUST as sick as y'all of blaine's just-friends dumbassery. it will come to an end at some point, i promise.
> 
> [i'm on tumblr! come scream at me!](https://breakingbowties.tumblr.com/)
> 
> today's video:
> 
> [Joy Ross - outstanding service! How an airport employee should guide someone who is blind with a guide dog!](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JBarW14DpdQ)


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HELLO i'm sorry that it's been two weeks!! i've been insufferably busy.
> 
> enjoy!

_6:57 P.M._

_Compose new message._

_Where are you right now?_

_Send message. Message sent._

_Kurt Hummel, 6:59 P.M. Kurt Hummel: Dalton, question mark._

_Compose new message._

_Very funny. What room?_

_Send message. Message sent._

_Kurt Hummel, 7:03 P.M. Kurt Hummel: Junior commons. I’m trying to study. Stop distracting me._

* * *

Blaine entered the room with a sharp rap of his knuckles against the door and a grin. Kurt gasped.

“You scared me,” Kurt said, tone light with laughter, and Blaine’s smile grew.

“Good,” he said, “because I’m actually Marley’s ghost, and I’m here to tell you to stop studying so hard.”

“What’s with the boom box?” Kurt asked. “Did you – you carried that all the way up here? Blaine! You know you’re supposed to keep your right hand free in unfamiliar environments. And don’t tell me this isn’t an unfamiliar environment, because we both know it’s only your third time up here.”

“You also worry too hard. Anyone ever told you that?”

Kurt hummed. “A few times. Am I allowed to ask why you’re still here? You’re supposed to be studying, too.”

“My mom had a work function in Columbus, so I thought I’d stick around for a while instead of trying to walk home in the dark.” Blaine heaved a sigh. “I also need you to sing with me. Well, _rehearse_ with me. I got a gig singing _Baby, It’s Cold Outside_ in the King’s Island Christmas Spectacular.”

“Ah, a personal favorite. Too bad they’d never let us sing it together. You know, as two…artists.”

The blend of confusion and optimistic wonder Blaine felt must have leaked onto his face, quick as Kurt was to clarify.

But of course Kurt was quick to clarify – he didn’t want to give Blaine the wrong idea. They were just friends, and Blaine knew that, and clearly Kurt knew that, too. Why else would he have jumped to correct himself?

Blaine nodded. “Hm. So, are you gonna help me out here?”

“Anything to get me to stop reading about Charlemagne.”

“Very good, then.”

Kurt slammed the book shut, and Blaine felt a flutter rise in his chest as he found the play button. His suspicions were very quickly proven correct: their voices complimented one another perfectly, balanced and easy, like they were both simply fated to sing to the other.

It didn’t occur to Blaine until halfway through the song that he and Kurt, as much time as they spent singing together in rehearsals, had never sung _to_ each other before. Not without the other Warblers there, and certainly not songs like this.

This was…a first.

His heart pounded against his ribcage, a fist to a metal door. He couldn’t have controlled the hammering even if he’d wanted to. Blaine caught a tunnel-vision blur of color, vague but familiar enough that he could identify it with ease: a splotch of alabaster skin topped by a splotch of brown. Kurt’s face. Kurt’s hair.

Kurt’s face and hair a mere foot from his own face, close enough to touch. Close enough as they settled onto the couch for the last few bars of the song that he could have, if he’d _really_ wanted to, leaned forward and–

But he didn’t. The song ended, and Blaine exhaled an awkward sound halfway between a cough and a laugh.

Kurt said with a brief pat to Blaine’s knee, “I think you’re ready.”

The instant his hand made contact, Blaine was on his feet, desperate to escape a tension only he could feel. He worked hard to keep his voice from trembling the same way his body was as he said, “Well, for the record: you are much better than that girl’s gonna be.”

Ruta, unquestioningly loyal as ever, rose from her resting position at the foot of the couch and hurried to his side at his commands of _stand_ and _heel_. The harness handle was a familiar, grounding weight in his hand. He left the boom box, knowing nobody at Dalton would steal it and Kurt could carry it to his mom’s car for him the following afternoon – partially because Kurt was right and he shouldn’t have been carrying it around in the first place, but mostly because he really didn’t want to risk not having a hand on the staircase railing right now with how unsteady he already felt. Blaine brushed past somebody’s shoulder in his haste to escape the Junior commons and threw out a murmured apology without breaking his step.

The bite of cold winter wind helped to clear his mind as he settled on the front steps, crickets singing in the thick of trees surrounding the parking lot, to wait for his mom. He pulled his jacket tighter around himself and stuffed his hands into the pockets, observing like a third party as his mind began to rationalize and compartmentalize.

Kurt’s hand against his knee, the soft tone of reassurance – those hadn’t really meant anything. They had, in a way, but certainly not in the way Blaine had automatically interpreted them.

Kurt was just a good friend. A good person, in general. He was kind, full of compassion, always willing to help someone in need. Surely he didn’t want to date every person that he showed kindness or extended a helping hand to.

Blaine followed this train of thought along its tracks in the hopes it would make him feel better, that it would calm his racing heart and shaky hands. It didn’t. All it achieved was putting a lump in his throat. Because if Kurt was this kind to everyone simply due to good nature, that meant it wasn’t special, in his mind, to help a friend rehearse a flirty Christmas duet. It was just the kind thing to do. It wasn’t a unique occurrence. It wasn’t special.

Which meant that, by extension, _Blaine_ wasn’t a unique thing. Blaine wasn’t special.

Not to Kurt.

That realization had no right to hurt as much as it did.

“What’s wrong?” Blaine’s mom asked the instant he climbed into the passenger seat of her car ten minutes later. “Blaine, honey, are you crying?”

 _Damn it._ Blaine blinked away the wet sheen over his eyes. He’d forgotten that others could see his tears even before they spilled. What a strange concept.

“It’s fine,” he said quickly, wincing. He sounded unconvincing even to his own ears. “I’m fine.”

“Blaine…”

“I’m _fine_ , Mom. I don’t want to talk about it. Can we just go home, please?”

She sighed heavily – he recognized it as her _we’ll talk about this later_ sigh – but put the car into drive and turned out of the parking lot without another word.

They never did talk about it.

* * *

Blaine wasn’t making squashing this crush any easier on himself.

First, it was the impromptu duet in the Junior commons. Then it was his resolve to try and put some distance between himself and Kurt – which he promptly gave up on two hours later, unable to help himself when Kurt came bounding at him with exciting news about some new Broadway show in the making. The real kicker was Blaine immediately offering him a free ticket to the King’s Island Christmas Spectacular, which Kurt readily accepted.

He didn’t know what he’d been thinking in the moment he offered the ticket, let alone _why_ he’d offered it. It just…felt like the right thing to do, he supposed. Kurt had, after all, rehearsed this number with him. Once. But still.

He also kind of wanted Kurt to be in the audience for moral support as he sang with an almost-stranger to a scarily large gathering of people whom he couldn’t see.

He also kind of, maybe, wanted Kurt to proudly tell other parkgoers that was his boyf – _best_ friend up there, that he was disabled and also absolutely killing this song, thank you very much. He kind of, maybe, just a little, wanted Kurt to hold his hand and settle his nerves before, to hold him and tell him how proud he was after. To be the one up there on stage with him. To kiss Blaine in front of everyone, just to stake his claim. Maybe. Just a little.

But none of that happened, save for the post-performance hug and _I’m so proud of you._ And, in fact, as they strolled through King’s Island in search of a stand selling warm drinks, Kurt casually mentioned that an attractive boy had just caught his eye and smiled at him, the sentence punctuated by a giggle.

Blaine tried to be okay with that.

* * *

When he and Kurt exchanged Christmas gifts on the last day of school before winter break, Blaine’s gift came with a verbal warning: “I swear to a God I don’t believe in, Blaine Anderson, if you open this before Christmas morning, I’ll find out, and I will not be happy.”

“Aren’t you supposed to say you’ll strangle me or something?”

“Absolutely not. I’d miss you too much.”

Blaine laughed and tried to pretend his heart wasn’t beating a mile a minute at _I’d miss you._

Regardless of how empty he knew the threat was, Blaine complied. He left Kurt’s immaculately wrapped gift untouched until after he and his parents had unwrapped their gifts to and from one another. All of the gifts addressed to Cooper remained unopened, and Blaine knew his mother would leave them there at least until New Year’s, like every Christmas past, until she finally gave up hope for a visit and mailed them to her eldest son.

“Blaine, honey, there’s a gift on the coffee table in front of you,” his mom said over his peel of laughter as he gripped the end of one of Ruta’s new toys, engrossed in a very excitable game of tug of war. “Is it yours?”

“Is it a little box with a bow on it?” Blaine’s heart leapt. He released the toy, allowing Ruta a default win. He couldn’t believe he’d forgotten.

“It is.” She set the box in his lap. “Am I allowed to ask who it’s from?”

Blaine hesitated, very aware that his father was still in the room, silently watching _It’s A Wonderful Life._ “It’s, uh…it’s from Kurt. You know – my _friend_ , from Dalton.”

“Oh! Of course.” His mom cleared her throat. “From the Warblers. Well, you should open it.”

He half-expected his dad to ask why Kurt was the only Warbler who’d given him a gift, and had a lie about a Secret Santa name draw formed on the tip of his tongue. But he didn’t ask. Blaine swallowed hard and opened the gift with trembling fingers.

He wasn’t sure, at first, what exactly he was holding. A circle of textured fabric held taut inside a wooden ring, a piece of ribbon attached to the top – nothing about it felt familiar.

Before he could ask, his mom exclaimed, “Oh, Blaine! You’d better call him later and say thank you. This is _so_ thoughtful.”

“I’m not…really sure what it is.”

“It’s a cross-stitched ornament. Do you feel that oval shape? That’s the Spider-Man mask. Now move your fingers down a little and–“

“ _Oh_.” Blaine blinked hard a few times. “That’s…”

It took him only a couple of seconds to recognize the lettering as Braile, and about fifteen seconds to read it, index fingers running smoothly over rows of six-dot cells.

_No one can win every battle, but no man should fall without a struggle._

His mom was wrong, because this wasn’t just thoughtful – it was so much more than thoughtful. It was almost too much. The thought that Kurt, who very much did not share Blaine’s overinterest in superheroes, had not only memorized his favorite hero but also his favorite quote by said hero, then gone to the trouble of stitching it in Braille–

Blaine sniffled as subtly as possible, trying to keep the choked tone from his voice as he held out the ornament and asked, “Can you hang it on the tree for me, please?”

* * *

“ _You_ , Blaine Warbler Anderson, have gone above and beyond this holiday season.”

Blaine grinned wide as he leaned back against the headboard, phone pressed to his ear. “I could say the same about you, Kurt Warbler Hummel. How long did that take you to make?”

“Do I have to answer that?” At Blaine’s hum of confirmation, Kurt sighed. “…about a month?”

“A month?! _Kurt_.”

“Don’t judge me! It’s harder than it looks. I’m new to the cross-stitching scene. Carole had to teach me.”

“Definitely not judging you. I’m…” Flattered? Touched? In absolute awe? “…very, very thankful. Thank you, Kurt. Seriously. It’s perfect.”

So perfect, in fact, that Blaine couldn’t help but feel self-conscious of the gift he’d given in return. Kurt had gifted him time, effort, and patience; an eagerness to learn and to help. Blaine had gifted Kurt a thing of materialism and money.

Kurt, apparently, didn’t feel the same way.

“ _You’re_ thankful? Blaine, I’ve been trying to get my hands on this Marc Jacobs sweater for _months_. The cold world of eBay bidding hadn’t been kind to me. How did you even find it?”

“I have my ways,” Blaine said slyly, not quite willing to admit that he’d found it on eBay, too, but his mom had been willing to pay the half that his saved-up allowance didn’t cover.

Kurt huffed. “Fine. Be that way. Just know that from now on, I fully expect you to find every coveted fashion piece for me, since you won’t share your methods.”

“That’s not fair,” Blaine said, chest warm as he laughed.

“Should have thought of that before you made all my dreams come true, Anderson.”

“That is–“ Blaine choked on an inhale. “That is utterly unfair.”

“I spent an entire month learning cross-stitch and sighted Braille for you. Anything goes at this point.”

Blaine really, really wished that could be true. “Seriously, though. Thank you for doing that. It’s…that was a really special gift, Kurt.”

Kurt said, voice so soft he had to strain to hear it: “ _You’re_ special, Blaine.”

“I’m…”

“No. Don’t say it. I know you feel like you’re not – I can tell. But you are. And if you can’t believe that right now, then I’ll believe it for you until you can. And I will absolutely not take no for answer. Understood?”

“Yeah.” Blaine swallowed around a lump in his throat, heat prickling behind his eyes. “You are, too, you know. Special.”

Kurt sniffed haughtily. “Duh. Even the old man who tries to sell students crack cocaine on the sidewalk outside of McKinley could have told you that. Now, the sweater – do you think a silk scarf overtop would be too much? Is that pushing the envelope in, like, a good way, or an absolutely terrible way?”

As he lost himself in the easy flow of their conversation, giving Kurt advice on things they both knew he wasn’t the least bit qualified to give advice on, Blaine felt an old weight – one he’d been carrying since long before he and Kurt met, so long he’d forgotten it was there – roll off his shoulders. Kurt was good at that, flicking all the boulders that stood in Blaine’s way off to the side as if they were mere pebbles.

And to Kurt, they were.

He was strong like that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [i'm on tumblr! come scream at me!](https://breakingbowties.tumblr.com/)
> 
> if you enjoyed this chapter, pretty please consider leaving a comment!
> 
> today's video:
> 
> [Molly Burke - 10 Things That Remind Me I’m Disabled](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fcdVEOflsSA)


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> blaine is even more dumb of ass than usual in this chapter :)
> 
> enjoy!

“Medium drip – to your right, Blaine.”

Blaine reached out, the muscle memory from Kurt handing him his coffee over the past couple months kicking in as he grasped the cup on the first try. “Thank you very much, good sir.”

Ruta, who had grown adept at following Kurt around in public spaces, moved easily with a simple command of _follow Kurt._

“Now,” Blaine said as they walked, “I don’t want to sound cocky or anything, but you guys better be pulling out all the stops for Regionals, because we just rehearsed a number so off the hook, it’s dangerous.”

Kurt hummed in agreement. He tapped a nail against the chair intended for Blaine to help him find his way faster.

“Seriously, people should wear protective headgear to watch it,” Kurt said as Blaine settled in. He recognized the teasing lilt in Kurt’s voice right away, but Rachel and Mercedes must not have; there was a short but tense silence. “Guys, we’re kidding.”

“Yeah, well, it’s just hard to laugh right now with everything going on at McKinley.”

“I mean, look at us.” Mercedes sighed, and Blaine bit back the playful _I sure would like to_ that rose to the tip of his tongue. Kurt knew him well enough to laugh genuinely at such jokes. The girls didn’t. “The stars of two rival show choirs sitting down for coffee? Our school is so messed up that we can’t even keep our own football team together.”

“It’s so sad, you guys. Mr. Schue and Coach Beiste were so close to getting everyone at the school together.”

“Why hasn’t Finn told me anything about this?” Kurt asked incredulously. “I mean, we live together – at least on the weekends. I bring him a warm glass of milk every night I’m home, just in the hopes that we’ll have a little lady-chat.”

Blaine smiled, head tilted in his friend’s direction. “Warm milk? Really?”

“It’s delicious!”

“Finn’s too proud to complain. He feels like he has to be strong for everyone, but I know it’s just killing him inside. I hope he realizes that if he and I were still together, I could make him feel a lot better, you know?”

“Let it go, Rachel.”

Rachel grew mildly sheepish at the reprimand. “I just wish there was a way that we could help, that’s all.”

“Yeah, and the worst part is how bummed the guys are. I mean, they already suffer enough abuse just being in Glee. I really think winning the game could relieve some of the pressure, at least for a little while.”

“Wait, so the whole team quit?” Blaine asked.

“Everyone not in Glee,” Mercedes said. “You can’t play football with five guys, and one of them is in a wheelchair.”

“Coach Beiste put up a sign-up sheet for people to join. I think they’ll take anyone at this point.”

“Well, the good news is, you actually only need four more players,” Blaine said, hoping to lighten the girls’ somber moods. “High school regulations let you play a couple people short.”

There was another stretch of silence, longer this time. Blaine hoped he hadn’t said the wrong thing. Though this pause did feel less tense; he could practically hear the gears beginning to turn in the heads of Kurt’s former teammates, likely thinking up lists of people at McKinley who’d be willing to give football a shot.

“Anyway.” Blaine cleared his throat and took a faux-casual sip of coffee. “If they figure out a way to make it work, we’ll be there to cheer them on.”

“Totally!” Kurt said, sounding genuinely enthusiastic about sitting through a football game, which was…weird. “Blaine and I love football. Well – Blaine loves football. I love scarves.”

Blaine started to laugh. The sound was abruptly cut off when Kurt’s hand rubbed briefly over his upper arm.

The touch was innocent enough. Downright friendly, even. But it was _Kurt,_ fingers warm and lithe and strong through the sleeve of Blaine’s blazer, and… _God._

He took an abnormally long sip of coffee to hide his visceral reaction, then kept his mouth firmly shut, content to listen as the conversation moved along to lighter topics and Kurt caught up with his friends.

If his hands shook for the rest of the afternoon, that was solely due to the caffeine.

* * *

Blaine had to do something.

He had no idea what or how, but – _something,_ somehow, and soon, because this was, frankly, getting out of hand.

Getting flustered by Kurt’s voice and light touches was, Blaine thought, understandable enough. After all, Kurt was attractive. His voice sounded like honey. Anyone in their right mind would be flustered.

There was, however, a difference between getting flustered by obviously flustering things and getting flustered by every single word that came out of his friend’s mouth. Kurt could have risen from their table right then and there and given the entire populace of the Westerville Breadstix an impromptu, long-winded speech about potential solutions to soaring gas prices, and Blaine still would have swooned.

It was a problem.

When Kurt got up to use the restroom halfway through their meal, Blaine deflated in his seat, relieved that he could _breathe_ again. He hated that he felt that way, but he did. He was living a lie, always trying to keep up this perpetual charade of friendship without the slightest bit of attraction, and it was starting to wear him down.

“Can I get you anything?” A voice asked suddenly, looming above him, and Blaine jumped before he recognized it as the voice of their waiter. “Some more water?”

“Uh, n-no,” Blaine stammered. “No, I’m good. Thank you, though.”

“Anything for your boyfriend?”

Blaine stiffened instinctually, mind and heart racing, veins thrumming tight. Strangers implying that whatever guy he was with must be his boyfriend had never gone over well before. “Who says he’s my boyfriend?”

“Isn’t he?”

“Does it matter?”

Blaine surprised himself with the cold, dismissive tone of his own voice. As if sensing his discomfort, Ruta, resting beside the table, placed her head atop his shoe. He didn’t speak to strangers in any way but perfectly polite and dapper very often – but, then again, it wasn’t very often that a homophobe picked up on his vibes well enough to feel confident in harassing him.

“Yes,” the waiter said, and Blaine tensed, every muscle pulled taut. “Because if he is, it would be totally inappropriate of me to ask for your number.”

That – he – “ _What?_ ”

“I – nevermind,” the guy said, suddenly sounding mortified. “I’m sorry if I made you feel uncomfortable. Please let me know if you need anything.”

“Wait,” Blaine called out, perhaps a bit too loudly, as a pair of footsteps hurried away from the table. There was a long pause. “I would like something, actually.”

“Yes?” The waiter asked, voice hesitant, as he slowly moved back to Blaine’s side.

Blaine took a deep breath, steadying himself, and put on what he hoped was a charming smile. “I’d love to get that number you recommended.”

The waiter laughed.

“Of course, sir,” he said, voice light and teasing, all hints of embarrassment long gone. “I’ll get that for you right away.”

Blaine extended a hand. “My name’s Blaine. Remind me of yours?”

The waiter shook his proffered hand.

“Jeremiah.”

* * *

“Careful on this next step, it’s a little uneven. They’re sitting to our left, just a couple more rows down – woah! You okay?”

Kurt’s arm wrapped around his waist on instinct, a firm grip pulling him upward as he began to trip on said uneven bleacher step. Blaine huffed, feeling a blush rise high on his cheeks.

“I’m fine,” he mumbled. “Thank you.”

Luckily, Burt and Carole weren’t too far into the row where they’d saved two seats for their son and his friend. It only took a few seconds of awkward shimmying and one loud, borderline-rude _excuse us_ from Kurt before Blaine was suddenly being engulfed in a hug by someone even shorter than him.

He made a choked noise of surprise, arms held stiff at his sides. “I’m sorry, who – who is this?”

“Oh!” A high voice said, and the hug was quickly retracted. “Sorry, honey, I’m just so excited to finally meet you! I’m Carole, Kurt’s step-mom.”

Blaine smiled, shoulders relaxing. “No problem at all, Mrs. Hudson-Hummel. It’s very nice to meet you, too.”

Apparently, Kurt wasn’t the only member of the Hudson-Hummel clan who could smell bullshit from a mile away. Carole tutted as she smoothed out the lapel of Blaine’s coat.

“Oh, none of that _missus_ nonsense,” she scolded lightly. Blaine ducked his head, hating the feeling of her gaze on him and the fond, amused tone of her voice, if only because it made him feel discovered. Exposed. “You don’t have to impress us, dear. You’ve already been such a good friend to Kurt. That’s all the convincing we need. It’s Carole to you.”

“Of course, Carole,” Blaine said, voice soft and sincere. “Thank you.”

“Thank _you,_ for taking care of him.”

“Carole,” Kurt warned, sounding more than a little embarrassed.

“It’s nice to see you again, Mr. Hummel,” Blaine said. It was mostly just his attempt at diverting the conversation elsewhere for the sake of Kurt’s pride. He was successful.

The man grasped Blaine’s right hand, and Blaine scrambled to assume proper handshake position.

“You heard the lady,” he said. “Call me Burt.”

“Yes, sir.”

“That’s not any better.”

“Yes… _Burt_.”

Burt chuckled and released him from the handshake. “Atta boy. You like football, Blaine?”

They settled on the bleachers, small-talk flowing easily between the four of them, the way it always seemed to _after_ Blaine had already gone and gotten himself all worked up with the fear that it wouldn’t. Those ten or so minutes before the game started were so unexpectedly pleasant, in fact, that Blaine’s realization didn’t hit him until the game _did_ start.

It was the realization that high school football games didn’t have commentators or play-by-plays like TV-aired games did. Which meant he was about to spend the next three hours or so even more bored and confused than Kurt.

But Blaine kept his mouth shut and his eyes fixed straight ahead, trying to force a look of contentment onto his face. Burt and Carole seemed sincere enough, but a big part of him didn’t fully believe their _you don’t have to impress us_ spiel, and complaining about not being able to participate in an event he’d willingly showed up at would most certainly not impress them. Leaving early wasn’t an option for the same reason, plus the fact that he’d promised Rachel and Mercedes he would be there to cheer them on.

Kurt figured it out about five minutes into the game. Blaine knew as much because he suddenly reached down and intertwined their fingers together, then leaned in and said jokingly, “I have no idea what’s going on, either. Just smile and nod.”

Blaine laughed a little, giving Kurt’s hand one quick, tight squeeze. “Thanks.”

“Mhm.”

_I love you. I love you, I love you, I love you._

* * *

Blaine slumped down in the passenger seat of Kurt’s car at a quarter past ten, heaving a sigh of relief. He was thoroughly exhausted – almost unreasonably so, considering he’d done nothing all night but sit on a hard metal bench and clap when everyone else did.

Much to his own abject horror, he woke an hour and a half later with no memory of the drive beyond Kurt starting the car, turning on the radio, and asking what he wanted to listen to. When he jolted back into awareness, the car was still and quiet. On his right, cold night air seeped into the warmth. A hand shook his shoulder.

“Blaine?” Kurt said. “Hey. You’re home. Do you want me to take Ruta out in the yard for you?”

“No, but thank you.” Blaine shifted upright, jaw clenched and face flushed. “I’ll take care of it.”

“Are you sure?”

“You have a long drive home. It’s fine.”

Kurt hesitated for a few short beats. “What’s wrong? Did I...did I do something?”

The first instinct that rose to the forefront of Blaine’s mind was _lie, lie, lie._ He swallowed it back with some difficulty. “It's not you. I’m just…kind of embarrassed. That I fell asleep in your car like that. We usually talk the whole way home, and I’m just…”

Blaine trailed off. Much to his surprise, Kurt wasn’t annoyed at all. He was laughing.

“You don’t have to apologize for that,” Kurt said with an almost breathless giggle. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

Blaine relaxed immediately, now less embarrassed about falling asleep and more so by the realization that he was, in fact, being ridiculous. He gave Kurt a very fake pout. “You’re making fun of me.”

“Only a little.” Kurt’s hand wrapped around his wrist, encouraging him out of the car. “Go inside, Blaine. You’re exhausted. I’ll take Ruta out.”

Blaine physically bit down on his tongue as he slid out of the passenger seat, fighting back the urge to ask if he really wanted to risk breaking the rare privilege of a two A.M. curfew – something Burt afforded only on the weekend nights when it was Kurt’s job to get Blaine home safe. Kurt was doing something kind for him that he didn’t have to do, just for the sake of kindness. He wasn’t going to complain.

“Thank you,” he said instead. “You’re the best.”

The smirk was clear in Kurt’s voice as he chirped out, “I know!”

Blaine pushed down the wave of affection that pressed against his ribcage, insistent, and smiled.

* * *

He laid awake long after Kurt’s car had rumbled out of the driveway, hair still damp from the shower, thinking. Before he could think _too_ much about it and chicken out, Blaine grabbed his phone from the nightstand.

_Contacts. Double tap to open._

_Contacts. Jeremiah._

_Compose new message._

_Hey. :)_

_Send message. Message sent._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [i'm on tumblr! send me your questions about this fic/series, or just scream at me incoherently!](https://breakingbowties.tumblr.com/)
> 
> if you enjoyed this chapter, please consider leaving a comment! on a scale from one to ten, how dumb of ass was blaine in this chapter?
> 
> today's video (and also a reminder to PAY ATTENTION TO THE CROSSWALKS WHEN YOU'RE DRIVING):
> 
> [Joy Ross - A near death experience my guide dog saved me from! I was completely in the dark](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uvMTHGkcwME)


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it just hit me that we're over halfway through with the first fic of this series and i'm...not sure how i feel about that. on the upside, this is the longest chapter yet.
> 
> enjoy!

"Okay, I'm all for flair, but these Valentine's Day decorations are just tacky. I mean - what the hell is this supposed to be?"

Blaine raised both eyebrows, a hint of a playful smile curling the edges of his mouth. "I wouldn't know."

Anybody else would have backtracked immediately, mortified as they stumbled their way through an apology that left both parties feeling tense and awkward. 

Kurt just laughed. 

"Oops," he said, "my bad. It's, like...a plush toy. If you can even call it a toy. There's two - dogs, I guess? Maybe they're polar bears, I don't know - but they're hugging and kissing. Is this supposed to be romantic? I'm so confused."

Blaine reached out to pet the toy's fluffy top. "Aw, come on, it's clearly puppy love! That's cute!"

"Uh, no. This is creepy." Kurt moved the toy away, presumably to put it back down, and Blaine huffed, pouting. "Valentine's is a simple excuse to sell candy and greeting cards on a holiday. And creepy plushies, apparently."

"Not true! People have been celebrating Valentine's Day for centuries." Blaine paused. "And, call me a hopeless romantic, but...it's actually my favorite holiday."

"Seriously?"

Well - no. It wasn't, really. Not yet, anyway. But Blaine hoped that after this February, it would be.

"I think there's something really great about a day where you're encouraged to just lay it all on the line and say to someone, 'I'm in love with you.' You know?" Kurt hummed thoughtfully. "And this year, I want to do something really radical, so I need your opinion on this."

"Oh?" Kurt asked, voice slightly higher than usual. "Do tell. Move up two steps - we're next after this lady."

Blaine sighed, long and loud. "Well, there's this guy that I sort of...like. And I've only known him for a little while, but I want to tell him that I think my feelings are starting to change into something...deeper."

"It - it sounds pretty serious."

"I really want it to be. So I have to ask: do you think it's too much to sing to someone on Valentine's Day?"

"Not at all," Kurt said, voice a near-whisper, then cleared his throat. "We're up."

"What can I get you?" The barista asked with faux-eagerness. 

Blaine fished his wallet from his pocket as he said, "A medium drip for me and a grande nonfat mocha for this guy."

"You know my coffee order?"

"Of course I do." Blaine frowned in Kurt's general direction. They got coffee together at least once a week. Kurt had long ago memorized Blaine's order, as well as the PIN to his debit card so Blaine could sit and save them a table when the Lima Bean was particularly busy. Why did him knowing Kurt's order come as such a surprise?

"That'll be eight-forty," the barista said. 

"I've got -"

"Don't even bother, dummy," Blaine said, already taking his card out of its designated slot. "You paid last time. It's on me."

His phone buzzed in his pocket - likely Jeremiah replying to his last text, Blaine thought, and his heart did a somersault - just as Kurt said, "Thank you, Blaine."

Blaine forced a smile, fending off the urge to reach for his phone. 

"Of course."

* * *

Blaine didn’t really like Jeremiah.

No - he did. He totally did. They’d gone out for coffee  _ thrice _ , and they liked the same football teams. They had a lot in common, and there’d never been a moment in their conversations where they weren’t sure what to talk about next. Blaine liked Jeremiah. 

He just didn’t  _ like  _ him. Not the way he so desperately wanted to convince himself he did. 

Not the way he liked Kurt. 

Still, Blaine asked him to a first outing, and then a second, and then a third. He told himself that his spending time with Jeremiah was the only reason he’d been spending less time with Kurt as of late, going a day or two without having a face to face conversation with him that lasted longer than a lunch period, cutting nightly calls short with only partially real yawns that prompted Kurt to insist he get to bed right away. 

If he convinced himself that Jeremiah had the potential to take up as much space in his heart as Kurt already had, maybe it would come true someday. Faking it ‘till he made it was, after all, Blaine’s specialty. 

Which went a long way in explaining why his Breadstix Brigade plan, while obviously convoluted and dramatic in hindsight, had seemed like such a fantastic idea at the time. 

“Kurt?” Blaine rapped his knuckles briefly against one of the propped-open doors to the Junior commons. “You in here?”

“Oh! I’m - y-yes, I am.”

“Hey.” Blaine smiled, turning to face the sound of Kurt’s voice. “What are you doing?”

“Nothing! Just, uh, daydreaming. Plotting weekend outfits.”

“Well, come on.” Blaine grinned, somewhat breathless with excitement, and nodded toward the hallway. “You’re gonna want to see this. I’ve called an emergency meeting of the Warblers’ council.”

“Sounds serious.” Kurt’s shoes clicked toward him, voice growing closer until Blaine could faintly make out a blur of alabaster and chestnut.

“Let’s hope not,” he said. “I just need to ask them a tiny little favor.”

(The butterflies that swirled in his stomach and danced across his nerve endings as they walked, Kurt standing close enough to his right side for Blaine to feel his warmth, were solely due to his plan and  _ not  _ Kurt. Not at all.)

* * *

“This emergency meeting is called to order! Junior member Blaine Anderson, the floor is yours.”

A few claps from a single pair of hands echoed in the room, then quickly faded out. Blaine couldn’t help but smile, because he knew instinctively that it was Kurt - always the one breaking barriers and traditions, challenging the status quo. 

“Esteemed council,” Blaine said in greeting as he rose from his seat. “I’ll be brief. Simply put...I’m in love.”

It didn’t feel right even as he said it, the words tasting blatantly untrue as they rolled off his tongue - but true, at the same time. In a completely different, significantly more terrifying way. 

The gathered Warblers  _ oohed _ collectively, curiosity piqued. 

“Congrats,” said a voice that Blaine, guiltily, could not put a name to.

“I’m not really good at talking about my feelings,” he continued once the excitement had died down. “I’m much better at singing them. But still, I could use a little help. Which is why I’m asking to enlist the Warblers to help serenade this individual...off-campus.”

His request received the exact response he’d anticipated: the boys erupted into verbal chaos. Wes, always so quick with the gavel (sometimes Blaine thought maybe his friend liked the tool a little too much), quickly regained control of the room.

Blaine took a deep breath and squared his shoulders. He’d expected this, and he was fully prepared to make his defense. “I know what I’m asking is slightly unusual-”

“The Warblers haven’t performed in an informal setting since nineteen twenty-seven,” Wes said, “when the  _ Spirit of St. Louis _ overshot the tarmac and plowed through seven Warblers during an impromptu rendition of  _ Welcome to Ohio, Lucky Lindy. _ ”

David cut in with a somewhat heated: “Why would we even consider what you’re asking?”

“I  _ firmly  _ believe that our reticence to perform in public nearly cost us a trip to Regionals. We’re becoming privileged, porcelain birds perched on a-”

The rest of his sentence was immediately drowned out by shouts of protest.

“You mock us, sir!” Thad cried, sounding overwrought and dramatic even to Blaine’s ears, which was saying a lot.

Wes banged the gavel as he shouted, “Thad! David! I  _ will  _ have order!”

He  _ definitely  _ liked his gavel privileges a little too much.

“May I please say something?” Kurt’s voice was high and soft, but it commanded attention all the same. Blaine froze, and a hush fell over the rest of the Warblers. 

“Of course, Warbler Kurt,” Wes said.

“Thank you. With respect, I believe Blaine has a point. The Warblers are so concerned with image and tradition that sometimes I feel like we miss out on opportunities to step outside of our comfort zones. When I was in the New Directions, we performed in front of hostile crowds pretty much anywhere we went. I mean - mattress stores, shopping malls - I had a cat thrown at me in a nursing home once.” A few quiet laughs arose at that. “But it - it gave us confidence, and it kept us loose.”

After a beat, Wes asked, “And where would this performance take place?”

Blaine puffed his chest up a little, emboldened by Kurt’s mini speech and the seeming shine the council had taken to it. “The Westerville Breadstix. I like to call it: The Warblers’ Breadstix Brigade.”

A few more laughs sounded, and Blaine smiled. Above the noise, Kurt asked, “Why Breadstix?”

Blaine’s heart fluttered, anxiety itching under his skin. He didn’t want to admit that he’d flirted with another guy while out to dinner with Kurt. But he had no reason to feel so nervous, did he? It wasn’t like he and Kurt were dating. 

He settled for a simple, “The guy I like is a server there.”

Wes banged the gavel again and announced the end of their emergency meeting. Blaine sucked in a deep, shaky breath, the weight of uncertainty falling off his shoulders.

Mostly.

He liked Jeremiah. He really did.

* * *

The Westerville Breadstix was far more crowded than usual, the din of conversation and clink of silverware against dishes louder than ever. Or maybe that was just his own perception. Everything felt heightened. 

“That’s him. I - I hear him, to my left.”

“The blonde one clearing the table?” Kurt asked, and Blaine frowned.

“Is he blonde?” For some reason, he could have sworn Jeremiah’s hair was red - but, then again, he’d never gotten close enough to see the color well. Jeremiah laughed lightly at something, and Blaine nodded. “Yeah. That’s him.”

Kurt hummed. “I can see the appeal. That’s quite a head of hair. He looks like the cover of one of Carole’s romance novels.”

“His name’s Jeremiah. If he and I got married, Breadstix would give me a fifty percent discount.” Kurt fell deathly silent at that, a silent judgment, and Blaine’s sense of longing was very quickly washed away by mortification. A hot blush crept up his neck. “This is insane. I don’t know what I’m doing. We haven’t even actually gone out - not on, like, a real date. We - we shouldn’t do this. This is crazy. Ruta, find the door-”

Blaine jumped to his feet and grabbed the harness handle, more than ready to make a run for it, but Kurt was out of their back-corner booth just as quick. He gripped Blaine’s shoulders tight and steered him in the opposite direction of wherever Ruta had been trying to guide him. 

“ _ Oh _ -kay,” Kurt said, exasperated. “Come on, man up. You’re amazing. He’s gonna love you.”

Blaine still desperately wanted to plot an escape, but he forced back the bile that rose in his throat and murmured, “Ruta, follow Kurt.”

They took their places on the stage reserved for private parties and other booked events - a stage they technically weren’t even supposed to be on, but hopefully their (frankly unquestionable) talent would negate any objections. 

The music began just as fight-or-flight kicked in. Flight wasn’t an option.

Instead, Blaine sang.

* * *

“Was it too much?”

Kurt didn’t say anything. His silence was, to Blaine’s ears, absolutely deafening, because it confirmed all his fears and then some.

He answered his own question: “It was too much.”

“There he is,” Kurt said suddenly, elbowing him a bit too roughly, and they both rose from the bench. 

“Jeremiah! Hey!” Blaine smiled. His heart was already heavy - he knew what was coming. But a guy could still dream.

Sure enough -

“What the hell were you doing?”

He swallowed hard. “What do you mean?”

“I just got fired. You can’t just...bust a groove in the middle of somebody else’s workplace.”

The icy weather outside seemed to creep into Blaine’s bloodstream at that. He’d gotten him fired. 

He’d gotten him  _ fired _ .

“But…” he sputtered. “But everyone loved it.”

“Well, my boss didn’t. And neither did I. No one here knows I’m gay.”

“Can I be honest?” Kurt cut in from behind them. “Just with the hair? I think they do.”

“Blaine,” Jeremiah said, tone low and placating, as if he were speaking to a small child. “Let’s just be clear here: you and I got coffee three times. You didn’t even tell me you were a minor. Dalton Academy? Really? When you said ‘school,’ I thought you meant college. We’re not dating, and we aren’t going to.”

Blaine exhaled in one large gust, feeling as if all the oxygen had been suddenly knocked from his lungs. “I’m - I wasn’t-”

“You should go home, Blaine.”

Footsteps crunched away across the snow. Blaine stood there for a moment, head spinning as he struggled to process the evening’s events. 

At the very least, the rest of his friends hadn’t stuck around to witness the peak of his humiliation. That was a slight comfort. Tears still stung hot behind his eyes regardless. 

“Blaine?” Kurt asked softly, hand resting on his shoulder. “Are you okay?”

He shook his head. “Can you just drive me home now?”

“Blaine…”

“Please. I don’t want to talk about it.”

Kurt pulled him into a firm hug. Blaine stiffened only for a moment, then relaxed against his friend. 

“It’s okay,” Kurt said simply.

“I feel so fucking stupid.”

“ _ Shh _ . It’s okay. I know. Let’s get out of the cold, alright? Come on.”

The ride home was silent, Blaine keeping his face turned away from Kurt, temple pressed against the cold window. If Kurt saw the few tears of frustration and embarrassment that slid down Blaine’s face, he didn’t say a word about it. 

* * *

Blaine settled his elbows atop their usual table at the Lima Bean, torso sagging down toward the worn wood.

“Everything here is just covered in stupid little hearts, isn’t it?” He mumbled. “I can  _ feel  _ it. Gross.”

“Well, you’ve certainly changed your tune.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever made that big a fool of myself. Which is really saying something, because I’ve performed at theme parks. I just can’t believe I made it all up in my head.”

And got a broke college student fired. And humiliated himself in public. And humiliated himself in front of  _ Kurt _ . 

“Okay, can I ask you something?” Kurt said after a minute. “Because we’ve always been completely honest with each other.”

Blaine lifted his head and nodded. “Yeah, of course.”

“You and I? We hang out. We sing flirty duets together. We know each other’s coffee orders. Was I supposed to think that was nothing?”

His heart raced, adrenaline pumping through his veins, and it took physical effort to keep his breath from picking up to match the pace of his sudden panic. “What do you mean?”

(He knew exactly what Kurt meant.)

“I thought the guy you wanted to ask out...was me.”

And that was just like Blaine, really, wasn’t it? To spend months trying to convince himself he didn’t like somebody who liked him back all along, to throw that away and go after somebody who didn’t and couldn’t like him back, to get everything so completely mixed up absolutely all the time. To not be able to see the obvious things everyone else could, in every way imaginable. To screw it all up.

“Oh,” Blaine breathed out. “Wow. I...really am clueless.”

“Yeah,” Kurt agreed, but he sounded fond. 

The second he heard that softness in Kurt’s tone, Blaine snapped back into reality, into logic and reason.

He couldn’t encourage this. 

Kurt liking him back didn’t change anything. Kurt still deserved better, even if he didn’t realize it right now. He had no idea how difficult it would be to date, marry, or even have kids with somebody who was always going to be so reliant on him - and in the future even more so than now, as his vision inevitably deteriorated from almost nothing to  _ nothing. _ Someone who would only drag him down.

Kurt Hummel deserved the best, and that was most certainly not him.

“Look, Kurt…” Blaine started, searching for a way to say what he had to without actually saying any of it at all. He knew  _ you deserve better _ would only make Kurt angry. “I don’t know what I’m doing. I pretend like I do, and I know how to act it out in song. But the truth is, I’ve never really been anyone’s boyfriend before.”

“Me, neither.”

Blaine’s resolve buckled. He moved his hands beneath the table, clenching them into tight fists against his knees. “Let me be really clear about something. I really -  _ really  _ care about you. But as you and about twenty mortified diners saw: I’m not very good at romance. I don’t want to screw this up.”

The definition of ‘this’ went unspoken. More than friends, but not quite boyfriends; some sort of limbo state. Not a  _ no _ , but a  _ maybe, one day, not now. _ He had a feeling Kurt knew that just as well as he did. 

And Kurt did. “So, it’s just like  _ When Harry Met Sally _ . But I get to play Meg Ryan.”

Blaine smiled, pushing down the urge to kiss him right then and there. “Deal.”

“Don’t they get together in the end?”

He knew by the hopeful lilt in Kurt’s voice, the firm edge of the sentence, that he wasn’t going to let this go easily. It seemed no Hummel ever went down without a fight.

Blaine told himself that was an imposition. 

(It wasn’t.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [i'm on tumblr! come scream at me!](https://breakingbowties.tumblr.com/)
> 
> if you enjoyed this chapter, please consider leaving a comment!
> 
> today's video:
> 
> [Molly Burke - 10 Things That Amaze Me About Sight!](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3aqm6zWmMI8&t=28s)


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